Walk Away Further: Neverstop!
by Hippothestrowl
Summary: No need to physically walk away to stop playing the game. Harry Potter learns to never stop asking for help even before he goes to Hogwarts so he's certainly not going to sit back and take all that injustice when he does! Take it to them, Harry! NOT a sequel but a sidequel to my earlier Walkaway. Featuring the return of Mercy Fuller.
1. Help

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**Walk Away Further: Neverstop**

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**Chapter 1**

**Help**

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The Birthday Message

No matter how much one tries, when something _really_ unusual happens nobody expects it. Even more true in the dead of night...

_Cluff–cluff–cluff–cluff!_

Harry Potter stretched out a hand to stifle his alarm clock before the cotton wool fell out from under the bell. It wouldn't do to wake his aunt and uncle at nearly midnight – especially tonight! He stared through the gloom in his cupboard – two minutes to go! Grappling for his precious collection of old-but-dry matches, he quickly lit the seven tiny candles left over from his cousin Dudley's birthday a few weeks earlier. Now they topped an almost complete doughnut and it was only a few days old!

One minute!

With trembling fingers he picked up an electric bill envelope on which he'd scrawled 'To Harry' and slipped his thumb under the flap ready to pull out the card inside. It was only a piece of cereal packet with _Brand New Expert-Improved Super-Sunshiny Honey-Goodness Guaranteed in Every Mouthwatering Bite!_ on the outside, but that faultless promise had always dazzled his imaginative longing, and he couldn't wait to read the _Happy Birthday, Harry!_ message he'd scrawled inside in different-coloured crayons. He wasn't sure what else greetings cards were supposed to have on them, so he'd drawn a house and a tree and copied a cracker riddle he'd found in the trash last Christmas – that always made him laugh! It would be like a real birthday.

His eyes brightened in expectation as the gap between the top of the dial and the minute hand narrowed like scissors carefully trimming off the day before.

Midnight! He was seven years old!

Hands shaking, he took out the card and gazed upon it. The smell of the burnt-out match still tickled his nostrils and the candle smoke was making his eyes water. Furthermore, the tiny flames flared suddenly, dazzling him. Words shone and sparkled, _but they weren't his own_ – were they?

_Never stop asking for help, Harry, and never stop offering it._

So hot was its import that the message seemed to sizzle itself into the card as much as his young, receptive mind, until finally he was certain nothing could ever remove its burning, pulsating rhythm: _Neverstop – Neverstop – Neverstop!_

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The Bleeding Nuisance

In the days that followed, Harry went silently about performing the arduous list of tasks set by his aunt. Yet no matter how often he looked, his birthday card only ever wished him a happy birthday, and the cracker joke was no longer amusing. There weren't any other words at all. But the shining message he'd seen and heard as his birthday had begun still continued to dominate his thoughts: _Never stop!_ Had he imagined it? The words seemed really important and he couldn't stop thinking about them, and how they'd seemed so vivid and powerful and strange and...

But then freaky things often happened around Harry, and, quite rightly, he was deeply ashamed of being abnormal. Why couldn't he be like other children? Could no one show him how?

_Never stop asking for help._ The words were always lurking at the back of his mind now, waiting to spring out like festive cracker sayings.

"Aunt Petunia, how can I get to be normal like–"

"–Your parents were freaks, and that's why YOU are too!" shrilled his aunt. "And peel faster – no, don't hold the knife like that, boy! If you get blood on the potatoes again I'll give you such a whack!"

_Never stop asking..._

"Could the hospital make me better, like when–"

–Petunia Dursley's hard wet slap across Harry's ear stung. He stumbled, nicked his finger with the sharp blade.

"SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE, YOU WORTHLESS NUISANCE!" shrieked the woman. "GET AWAY! NOW I'VE GOT TO RINSE THE VEG! Wait till your uncle hears about this! _NO, DON'T DRIBBLE BLOOD ALL OVER MY NICE CLEAN FLOOR!"_ She reeled off several sheets of kitchen paper and wiped the front of the sink which was darkly spotted, then swooped down to rub at the floor. "Here! hold that over the cut, and don't you dare spill anymore!" She thrust the filthy wad of paper into his hand and shoved him out the kitchen, then out the front door. "GO! Don't come back till it's stopped dripping! And stop that whimpering you pathetic freak! It's only a gash!"

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Cat Woman

Despite the hot sunny weather and the freedom of outdoors, Harry sniffled to himself as he walked up the garden path to the gate. He forced himself to walk away from Privet Drive but his stomach felt sick from seeing so much blood, his ear was still ringing and sore from Petunia's smack, and his finger was stinging with pain. Now what was he supposed to do?

_Never stop asking for help, Harry._

The voice in his head was so clear he almost looked around. But he was alone at the corner of Wisteria Walk with only the blazing sun for company. _Mrs Figg saved me last year. Perhaps she can call the nice amb'lance man again._

He walked along and knocked tentatively at the old lady's door – which opened abruptly within only a few seconds.

"Harry? I was expecting the post–" –The old lady tilted her head on one side to inspect the wodge of bloody tissue wrapped around the hand he'd held up. "Come in then."

Softness pressed hard past his ankle as he entered: one of the many friendly cats that were coming to physically welcome him, purring and miaowing. He wondered what it would feel like if a real person ever came close enough to–

"–Not seen you properly since... well, you know..." She peered briefly at his forehead then began fumbling in the top drawer of her sideboard. Its little dangly brass handle wobbled as she rummaged through sticks and stones and bottles – and Harry swore he saw sparkly dust drifting up, caught in the sunlight through the greying lace curtains. Yet the heavy Victorian side drapes remained silent and sombre on the brightest of days, he knew that. Anxiety rose up in him; perhaps he should not have troubled her again. He'd never even had a chance to–

"–Thank you, Mrs Figg, for when–"

"–Quite alright, Harry. Lucky I happened by and saw you lying there that day. What were you doing out in such weather with no coat?"

"Uncle Vernon wanted me to clean the oil spots off the drive while they drove to see Dudley be a angel in the school play."

"That man!" she shouted over her shoulder as she continued to rummage. Didn't he know you had the flu'!"

Harry shook his head and mumbled something.

"This'll do it," she muttered, coming back with what looked like a small grey rock clutched in her hand.

"That's a funny shape," said Harry. "Is it a dog?"

Mrs Figg made a throaty noise. Harry had never heard her laugh before. "You could say that," she said. "Certainly comes to heel when I say."

"_A heeling stone,_" murmured Harry to himself, as she cast aside the makeshift bloody bandages and touched Harry's weeping injury with the rock. "There, that's soaked it up, dirt, blood, split and all."

Harry blinked closely but couldn't quite find where the cut had been. His ear wasn't hurting either.

"Best not say anything about this, Harry," said Mrs Figg as she put away the stone. "Here's fifty-pee. Nip round Fairlows and buy a pack of plasters. Stick one round your finger so–"

"–But my finger's fine now!"

Mrs Figg frowned. "And what would your aunt say to that, boy!"

Harry lowered his head and mumbled, "She'd say it's unnatural."

"Exactly."

He turned to go. "Thank you, Mrs Figg."

_Never stop._ Harry looked back at her quizzically. "Mrs Figg, do strange things like that...? Only they happen to me a lot and I wanted to ask if–"

"–I'm not supposed to–"

"–You know what it is?"

"You're too young, Harry. I–"

"–Will I get better when I grow up?"

The old lady's lips quivered, and she patted him on the shoulder. "Th–there, there, Harry ... f–fine as you are." She paused, trying to control herself. "Oh well, in for a Knut, in for a G–Galleon, I suppose. Can't be helped now." But still she hesitated, unsure, and muttering to herself. "Promise ... keep s–secret. I'm not s'posed to–"

"–I promise," cried Harry, moved by the anguish in her expression.

Mrs Figg gathered herself together as if about to make an effort. "It's magic, Harry. You can do magic."

The little boy stared for a few moments then giggled with relief that she wasn't really upset but playing a game with him. He only stopped grinning when he saw the batty old woman wasn't even smiling. Harry frowned. "People can do real magic? Not just tricks?"

"Not everyone, Harry. ... Listen, I've said enough. You'd better go. Don't forget them plasters from the shop so your aunt doesn't–"

–_Never stop asking._ "But _YOU_ can!" He held up his finger. There wasn't even a scar.

"No, I can't, boy! It was the stone that healed, not me. I can't do anything."

"Who then? Who else can do magic? Can they help me to stop being a freak? So I'm not... _abnormal?"_

Mrs Figg shook her head. The boy was more messed up than she'd feared. "I can't help you. Go."

_Never stop asking._ Please, Mrs Figg. I promised to keep your secret. If _you_ can't, then who can? I'll always be a..."

There was real fear in her eyes as she stared into the distance. "You tell no one about me. You never mention me, hear?"

"I promise."

He followed her to the sideboard this time. She took out a little stick and a tiny bottle of misty green. "One sip as needed to make you look older. Your guise is uhh... _Ben ... Higgins._ Here's some Knuts money – all I can spare. Walk up Magnolia and hold out this stick. Ask on the bus for The Leaky. Then put this cloak on. You'll be safe enough if you follow what I say and get back this afternoon. Go right through to the backyard and tap the bricks like this..."

She rattled on with instructions till Harry's head spun in confusion. "A grownups bank? In London? Aren't you coming? I've never been on my own in–"

"–Then ask someone else for help. I'll be in enough trouble as it is if this gets out!"

She shooed Harry out of the house, her face showing renewed uncertainty and even horror at her own impulsiveness. The door closed behind him. He was alone on Wisteria Walk, spotlighted by the blinding sunshine and trembling at the prospect of travelling into London by himself.

_Never stop asking for help._

Encouraged by the caution in his mind he began to walk.

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Curiosa and Curiosa

The strange old cloak was far too long and the coins were fake or foreign. As Harry uncorked the bottle, he stared miserably up and down Magnolia Crescent to see if anyone was watching. There were no bus stops he already knew. One sip he took, then quite quickly felt both himself and his hand-me-down clothing stretching and swelling upwards! He stumbled in astonishment and took a few steps to adjust to his new proportions as an adult. Bracing himself to keep focusing on the help he'd been given, he held the stick out into the road.

There was a huge whoosh and a screech – a strange bus hurtled to a stop beside him. Harry blinked and got on board. He offered the funny money, recited, "Leaky, please," then he was on his way.

Everything was just as Mrs Figg had described and, once he put on his man-sized cloak, no one took any notice of Harry Potter as he drew gold from a goblin bank – where he discovered his parents had left him a significant fortune. Not one person showed any interest when he bought books from Blotts, and not a glance came his way when he entered a charms shop run by the elderly Rosa Curiosa and her sister Cora.

Rosa had explained, "This green abacus bead is a counter, remember that. We've bewitched it to counter most average spells. It's like the _Finite_ wand spell, only – no shame in being a Squib, sir; we get a lot in here, don't we Cora? Now see this little blue ring? It'll ring a moderate shield round you when turned. The silver wristlet we call a _riskless_ because it twitches when there's danger to be avoided. Just follow the notes, and here's a booklet for all the others and the safety wand."

"Safety?"

"Well, it's–"

"–Polite term for a Squib wand," called Cora from the side counter.

_Never Stop asking for help._

"Thanks, but where can I get more help?"

Cora came around to him wearing a quizzical frown. "What sort of help?"

Harry bit his lip. "Dunno. About magical–"

"–Finding lodgings? Legal advice? Education? Raising ch– you have a magical child? You Muggle-raised? Wife Muggle too?"

"Yeah." The lie came out easily, instinctively. After all, Harry had himself to care for, and he was a magical kid, so it was mostly true anyway since he hadn't directly answered all her questions.

"Ah, I see... that's hard for someone like you. Don't let your young un' have an adult wand till they're eleven or the Ministry will cause trouble. The wand we've sold you is limited, but safe and legal."

The short, dumpy women were very tidy-looking but not as pushy or distant as normal shopkeepers usually seemed to the boy, and certainly more open and genuinely friendly than most, especially now Harry was taller than them, and so less intimidated. He wondered if they were twins or simply very close in age and looks.

Rosa smiled. "As for other general advice and help, I suggest you check the classifieds. Get a Daily Prophet at the corner and look through the adverts in the back pages. Should have come to the Alley when you were younger, sir. Takes years to adjust to actually living in the magical community. All them Muggle-borns are so disadvantaged..." She shook her head sympathetically.

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A Place of Asking

The Daily Prophet was the oddest newspaper that Harry had ever seen, with moving pictures and dogeared corners that seemed to crook a finger beckoning you forward to the next page, and the next, and the– so he soon found himself amongst the classified ads. With a crayon he ringed round a paragraph headed _Advice Bureau_ and asked passersby for help in finding it. It was right on a corner, but with the entrance unfairly set in a sad little dirt street off Diagon named Margin Alley. The adjacent couture was derelict, its attempt at pedigree failing to survive where even weeds struggled, so the Bureau's bright paint could never hide its cheap surroundings.

Harry liked that magic shops had little bells inside their entrances which always tinkled cheekily no matter how many times he pushed and pulled the doors. Fuller's Bureau was no different, though the interior was more of an office than a shop, and brighter and cleaner than the stores he'd visited. He stared at the large banner gently swaying like a kite in a sensible breeze over the main counter. The sign read: _A Place Of Asking_.

"Good morning, sir, how may I help you?" said the middle-aged woman behind the desk. She half rose to greet Harry who thought it was very polite of her seeing as she was a lady.

"I'm new to uumm... and need help with erm..." He struggled to remember Rosa's words. "Squirts? Loggings? Legal vice? Muddled children – lots of them actually."

The lady's eyebrow only twitched slightly. "I see... Mr...?"

"Uumm... Higgins."

"Well, Mr Uumm... Higgins, that's a lot of help you need, " she raised her chin defiantly and clasped her hands together, "so I'll require five hundred Galleons up front as a gesture of credibility."

Harry nodded and began spilling out coins from his pouch onto the–

"–STOP, stop! I see you're solvent," cried the woman. "I just needed to confirm that you're not – please take back your gold, Mr Higgins, and we'll talk business."

Harry frowned. "I know these gold tokens looks funny but they say it's true wizards' money, honest! Don't you want it? I haven't got any proper money 'xcept fifty-pee, and I need that to buy sticky plasters even though–" He clamped his mouth shut tight, remembering his faithful promise to Mrs Figg.

"Don't worry, I'll bill you if we can make a deal. Now, first things first, are you saying you're a Squib who's had to live amongst Muggles?"

"Uumm... I think so."

"You don't know what a Squib is, do you? ... Or a Muggle?" The lady drew a quick breath as if she were about to sigh, but stopped herself, straightened up, and said briskly, "You're exactly the sort of person we love to help!"

Harry beamed. "Thank you Mrs Fuller."

"Call me Mercy." She pulled a form out of nowhere and a quill rushed to poise itself eagerly above the first tickbox on the left at the top. "And _your_ first name, Mr Higgins?"

"Erm... Ben."

Mercy smiled and nodded agreeably enough. "Age?"

"Uuh... sixty-four – no, fifty-four, I meant."

Now an eyebrow really shot up. "You're fifty-four?"

"Yeah, or... thereabouts. I've had so many birthdays I tend to forget." He reached to show her his homemade card... then thought better of it.

"I see. Well then, Mr _ErmBen UummHiggins_ who looks twenty years younger than he says and talks even younger, you clearly need a lot of guidance, and my first piece of advice is you'll need to be absolutely truthful if you want legal '_vice'_."

Harry nodded. "Okay."

"So...?"

Harry nodded and smiled, waiting politely.

Mercy Fuller could feel the corners of her lips curling upwards in response. "I'll start then, shall I?" she said, "I've lived for twenty-three years but physically I'm nineteen because that's when I began to continuously use an ageing potion so people would take me more seriously. And Mercy Fuller is only my business name. You, I take it, are using an ageing potion and another name for... a similar reason?"

Harry frowned. "You won't tell anyone?"

"I promise I won't. Confidentiality is... _secrecy_ is very important to good business relationships."

Harry stared at the woman, at the hair greying at the temples, the tiny wrinkles on her face, and the worn elbows on her robe. Even he could see the office was not very grand. Why she might be as hungry as he so often was! And yet she'd been noble enough to refuse his money...

"I think you are a very honest person Mrs... Mercy. So I will share my secret with you. My true name is Harry Potter and" – he raised his shoulders proudly – "I am seven years old."

Mercy Fuller could not speak for a few moments. The Boy Who Lived was actually present before her, not as a great vanquisher of evil, nor a swaggering celebrity, but innocent, confused, clearly ignorant of magical ways, and seeking _her_ help. "Harry... I promise to assist you to the utmost, and in every way I am able. You need only ask."

Harry's eyes lit up and his mind turned over and over with delight. _Neverstop – Neverstop – Never stop asking!_

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Appreciating the Moment

The remainder of Harry's summer was spent flitting from Privet Drive to Diagon Alley so he could ask endless questions of the obliging Mercy Fuller. She never seemed to tire nor become irritated, and sometimes he stayed overnight in a room she'd provided as lodgings. There were more visits to the bank to set up payments, make enquiries, and establish details of how his money was to be managed and the amounts. She introduced him to the reliable law firm of Dither and Dodge who would advise and represent him in legal matters. But most of all, Mercy Fuller instructed Harry in the ways of magic and the doings of the magical community.

This was a joyful season for Harry, with gloom only settling upon him when he began to contemplate the dreary return to school in September. _Never stop asking!_

"Mercy, do I really _have_ to go back to school?" he pouted, knowing full well that all kids in the Muggle world were forced to attend.

The woman paused only for a moment before pleasantly surprising him. "No, you don't have to go to school, Harry. Children can receive their elementary education at home. I am qualified in that capacity if you so wish, and I can arrange via the Ministry for the Muggle authorities to accept you are being home taught. I can also explain the change to your aunt."

So it was. By winter, Harry was spending more time with Mercy than at home in Little Whinging. He'd been persuaded to use ageing potion sparingly while he was still growing, so he dutifully countered the potion with his abacus bead while indoors.

"Your safety is important, Harry," she explained. "The Dark Lord still has many followers who would do you harm given the chance. I'm surprised the Ministry permitted you to stay with your Muggle relatives. I did detect some protective magic when I visited your aunt but how strong it might be I do not know. The home concealment magic your parents used is much more secure; even Voldemort could not break in till they were betrayed."

"Why me?" frowned Harry. "I've seen lots of magical children in Diagon Alley he could have tried to kill instead."

Mercy nodded. "Yes, but he must have learnt something about you that worried him."

"What did he learn about me?"

"You're asking me to find out?" she said, reaching for her notebook.

"Yes, please. I'd hate to be killed and not know why, wouldn't you? Those other children are jolly lucky not to–"

Mercy Fuller waited patiently while Harry's brow furrowed in concentration. When he spoke again, he'd changed his view. "No, _I'm_ the one who's lucky to have found out about..." He paused as a further idea came to him. "What happens to Muggle-borns who don't know about magic?"

"They remain ignorant until they are eleven and receive a letter from Hogwarts."

"But that's horrible! And so unfair." _Neverstop – neverstop – never stop offering..._ "Can we help them? Can we?"

"Mmm..." Now it's was Mercy's turn to frown her way through deep thoughts. She placed the point of her Muggle pen upon the next page of her notebook but did not immediately begin to write. "Perhaps..." she said, and that is the word she finally wrote.

Important changes first originate with new occurrences in someone's head. Being so focused on these ideas, Mercy could hardly be expected to appreciate the importance of the moment, so how could a little child?

The honesty of Mercy's spirit was conflicted in that she would directly profit from advising a client. Her nascent plan included improving and extending her own property that she herself could not have afforded.

"Harry, this will need significant investment of–"

"–I don't care!" bristled Harry, as if money should not be regarded as important compared to – "We must never stop offering help to those that need it!"

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The Guardian of the Book

On Harry's behalf, Mercy bought the neighbouring couture. It was a large property, quite tall and with an overgrown roof garden, but near worthless because of its location in Margin Alley. The effort and expenses involved in converting it into a habitable place of learning easily surpassed the low purchase price. The building was merged seamlessly into her current establishment, the faltering advice business became a sideline, and the blank brickwork on Diagon Alley was opened up into a prime entrance above which was wrought:

_THE MERCY FULLER JUNIOR ACADEMY  
A Place of Asking_

The old door in Margin Alley remained the postal address for deliveries and suchlike, but the newer, grander doors would draw in visitors. On the right side of these doors was a long window displaying a cauldron heaped with dry ingredients, a wheelbarrow entwined with writhing creepers, a shelf bulging with study and story books, and much other learning paraphernalia, including a wand, broomstick, and a stuffed owl that changed into a cat if you weren't looking.

Harry wrung his hands with excitement, almost jumping for joy. Mercy frowned tolerantly at the public display of boyish exuberance from the manly figure, and ushered him inside, explaining, "Only this frontage is visible to the public; the main building and its dormitories are magically concealed and you are what is called the _Secret Keeper._ Only you can reveal it to trusted individuals."

"What if one of them 'trays me? Like my parents were?"

"They cannot betray you, Harry, because only you can reveal the hidden access to another."

"And you can find them? The magical children?"

"I've been working on it..." Mercy sat Harry down beside her on one of the plush armchairs they'd prepared to welcome visitors into the school foyer. He sensed she was about to tell him something important.

"I had boundless energy at Hogwarts, always hungry to discover more. Your parents were four years ahead of me but–"

"–You knew my mum and dad?"

"Harry, _everyone_ knew James and Lily. Your father showed me a secret way in and out of the castle; I think they must have found a map, though I never directly saw it. Anyway, I could now explore Hogsmeade and beyond, as well as Hogwarts itself; there was so much more to know!"

"But the little children, Mercy?"

"They are writ by the Quill of Acceptance in the Book of Admittance at Hogwarts; there's a secret chamber in the castle. Not even the Ministry has access, but a reckless friend of James took me to see it from outside. He'd borrowed a wonderful cloak of invisibility, and we clung on a broomstick together within inches of a narrow turret window. Neither of us was able to squeeze through of course – not even the smallest first-year could have – but the book was a wonderful sight! My companion and I visited on several different days hoping to see the Quill write as a magical baby was born, but to no avail. He reassured me we'd succeed one day, though we never did." Mercy sighed.

Her eyes were so misty-looking that Harry was taken by a powerful sensation that she'd been in love with the rider whose broom she'd shared. Harry knew all about love of course; he'd witnessed it once on the leafy side of the play park in Little Whinging. A couple had been holding hands so delicately, and the fondness in their eyes was so appealing, that their attachment could not be mistaken for anything else. Naturally he'd glimpsed similar scenes on television, and even parents caring tenderly for their offspring, before being shooed out of the room by his aunt, but everyone knew TV was make-believe so he hadn't been sure love could be real till the park incident.

"Some say the book is so ancient that the Founders themselves must have made it," continued Mercy, lost in her dream and oblivious to Harry's expression as he watched her face. She shook herself. "But it's watched over by the dreaded Lord Darkwith's portrait and few would–"

"–No, Mercy! Don't go any further!"

His companion smiled. "No need to fret. Lord Darkwith is dreaded because of reputation and rumour. It's true he'd ruthlessly report to Hogwarts' Headmaster anyone tampering with the Book of Admittance, but his portrait's been lonely up in that tower all these centuries. His vigilance denies him much sleep but provides plenty of boredom. He was therefore open and eager for conversation with anyone who was reverently curious, especially Muggle-borns."

"Those without magical parents? Why?"

"Lord Darkwith was born to Muggle nobility. He it was that petitioned for Muggle-borns to be allowed into Hogwarts. Perhaps it was Darkwith himself that created the Quill of Acceptance. After all, magical parents had declared their children openly until that point, and still do, but it's only the Quill that can detect the birth of _all_ magical children, including those that do not even know it themselves yet. And he aimed to keep it that way by declaring an oath that no child's name be given to darkness, but preserved at Hogwarts solely for their education and nothing else."

Harry's eyes had brightened during Mercy's speech, though his shoulders slumped towards the end, until finally he erupted, "But that's our plan! Education and nothing else! Ask him, Mercy! Are you going to ask him to help us?"

"I already have – three days ago. But I cannot keep sneaking into Hogwarts for daily updates. Nor does even the portrait glimpse anything until the pages turn in the Book which cannot be reached or influenced from the window. I am working on a plan with an acquaintance of mine. However, Darkwith will agree to nothing unless he meets you first."

"Me? Why would a great lord want to see me?"

"It is because You-know-who – Harry, you must understand that the Dark Lord was, and perhaps still is, utterly and only evil – he'd plotted to seize Book and Quill so he might exterminate Muggle-borns at birth. You thwarted that when he tried to kill you and his curse rebounded. Lord Darkwith is grateful for so many innocent lives saved. He wishes to bless with thanks on behalf of those rescued... The Boy Who Lived."

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—oOo—

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**Author's Notes**

_This story came about to push the walk away theme further while remaining at Hogwarts but refusing to accept the injustices of the school, refusing to keep quiet, and refusing to be manipulated. Where did the 'never stop' message come from? I like to think it was Harry's own accidental magic bursting out in an emotional moment to help him._

_For those who don't know, 'fifty-pee' means fifty pence or pennies, usually written 50p, and equal to half a British pound sterling which equals 100p._

_Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

**\- Hippothestrowl**

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	2. Starting School

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_So far... On his seventh birthday, Harry Potter was inspired to never stop asking for help. Thanks to Mrs Figg, he learned about magic, and found good support from Mercy Fuller who ran an advice bureau off Diagon Alley. With his funding, she set up a junior academy primarily to provide Muggle-raised children with a good preparatory education. But will they come? Now read on... _

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**Chapter 2**

**Starting School**

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The First Student

Soon after September began, so did Harry's formal lessons. Classes were predominantly of life skills: reading, writing, and arithmetic; how to interact socially, and knowledge of the magical and Muggle communities. Mercy provided Harry with a junior wand to complement his Squib stick, and began teaching him common practical spells with the admonition that he must only use it under her supervision or within the confines of the academy – except when danger threatened.

But Harry's thoughts under Mercy's protection were now far from every kind of peril. He was thrilled to be free of the Dursleys, eager that Christmas was approaching, and excited that Mercy had promised him two special surprises when the big day arrived.

And arrive it eventually did. Not far from the hearth – where a great log fire was roaring sparks up the chimney – a festive tree adorned the Academy's front window on Diagon Alley. Several glittery streamers and a _Joyful Yuletide to ALL!_ message decorated the fogged-up glass. With both sleeve and fingers, Harry wiped condensation away in big circles so he could sit gazing contentedly out at the passersby. There were fewer of them than he'd expected for such a special day, but then again, it was barely past eight o'clock and only just becoming light. A few night lanterns still glowed, and as he looked up to admire their colours, a fluttering caught his attention.

"It's here!" The boy raced to the door watched by a smiling Mercy.

He let the owl into the warm but most of his attention was on the little package attached to its leg. He frowned at the shape of the brown paper wrapping, then quickly hid his disappointment. "A book? Is it stories? Or spells? Or...?"

Madam Fuller fed a scrap to the bird while Harry tore open the package. He could not hide his frown this time. "A picture frame?" He held it up questioningly, then remembered his manners. "Thank you so much, Mercy! I can use it for– oh! There's a dark wall painted; I thought it was blank."

"Can you not guess what it might be, Harry?" She was smiling encouragement.

He desperately wanted to show gratitude, but could think of no purpose in having a little picture of only a grimy stone wall. "Is there a secret to it?"

"Lord Darkwith!" cried Mercy, "may we speak with you?"

Harry's eyes widened as the generous, broad-shouldered figure of a man squeezed into view within the frame. "Certainly, Madam – ah! and this must be the famous Harry Potter!"

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Harry said softly, still recovering from his surprise, "but how–"

–Mercy answered: "The friend I spoke of, remember? She's quite adept at painting magically, and her daughter's tiny enough to squeeze through the tower window. The two of them produced a suitable background to enable Lord Darkwith to flit between."

"Not so much of a flit as a flattening," smiled the rotund gentleman, pulling in his elbows a little more. "But cosy, I'll admit." He turned to Harry. "I wish now to express my heartfelt thankyous, young man, for the unlimited young lives you saved when that dark curse rebounded from–" He paused, then murmured thoughtfully, "I thought your scar would be much more marked..."

"The hospital made me better when–" He broke off, unsure whether he should relate the story of how Mrs Figg had called an ambulance for him last winter.

"Hospital?" said Mercy. "You mean a Muggle hospital?"

"I was poorly. The amb'lance man said I died of hyper firmer and I saw my mum in heaven with angels weeping and–"

"–Hypothermia?" cried Mercy. "They resuscitated you?"

"No, Dudley brought me back as a angel ... I think."

Mercy and Darkwith exchanged glances. "_Confused, I think..._" whispered the portrait of–

–The doorbell tinkled – several times as a delighted little girl swung the door back and forth through the escaping steam.

"Luna!" cried Mercy. "Do come into the warm, and you too, Pandora!"

"Daddy will Floo later, but we wanted to walk up the Alley first," explained Luna. "He's rushing out The Christmas Quibbler to make everyone merry!"

"Harry, this is Mrs Pandora Lovegood and her daughter Luna," said Mercy.

Gawking with delight, Harry could barely speak amidst all the greetings. Luna's straggly blonde hair flew about as she hopped and skipped over to the tree beside the mantel. Her cheeks, pinched white from the cold street, now glowed redly from the cheery flames. She stopped and pointed, a question in her excited eyes.

"My puddle steamer!" said Harry. "Look you can pull it along with a string or it can float in ponds but Mercy needs to chant it but we tried it in the bath and it swishes along but one day we might sail it on the Thames!"

The little girl clapped her hands. "Never saw a boat with wheels before! I'm six and three-quarters. How much are you?"

"Seven!" Harry pushed out his chest.

The adults watched with amusement. and Darkwith's eyes wrinkled up with silent laughter.

Pandora murmured, "Must we really wait until March for Luna to join your school?"

Mercy smiled. "I'm sure we can make an exception for such a bright child."

The portrait had dipped his head sideways to listen for the Quill scratching in the Book at Hogwarts.

"Have you Muggle-borns for me, Lord Darkwith?" said Mercy.

"We can only go on those magical children with Muggle addresses to suggest they have been Muggle-raised. I prefer not to speak their names aloud, Madam, but young Luna was kind enough to draw me a scrapbook."

He held up a large soft-covered book scrawled with matchstick creatures, and opened it, face outwards. Mercy summoned her notebook and began copying down the names and addresses she saw there. "I'd hoped for more..."

"And there are more, Madam Fuller, but I cannot read them until the Quill makes a new entry on their page for me to read."

Mercy nodded. "Thank you, Lord Darkwith."

.

Pass Us By

The next morning there were far more people shopping in Diagon Alley. Harry waved through the window at the families passing by, but most of the children were of the wrong age for the junior academy. However, a significant number still often clustered around for a minute or two looking puzzled. "Academy? What for?" – "It'll never be the equal of Hogwarts!" and "Whatever are they thinking of!" were commonly expressed as they hurried off.

"Why don't they like us?" said Harry.

"They're set in their ways and don't think about children not raised in the magical community," said Mercy, putting an arm around Harry's shoulder. "We need to be patient and wait for replies to the letters I'll be sending out today."

She ruffled his hair, and Harry grinned up at her, but when his face turned away, it darkened with misgivings. _Suppose nobody wanted their help?_

_Never stop offering help!_ In the days that followed, Harry took to standing at the door in case anyone asked for assistance. Mercy called him Ben in public and had changed his hair to light brown. He was dressed in thick clothes with a woollen cap pulled low. Nobody in the busy street would have dreamt he was the famous Boy Who Lived.

A young couple smiled at him yet carried on up the road arm-in-arm, eyes once more only for each other. An elderly lady wasted only a single glance Harry's way, then shook her head at the big sign above the entrance. A tall, pompous wizard strode swiftly past without even looking to his side. A fair-haired boy with a round face dodged out of the man's way just in time and grabbed the sleeve of the elderly lady. A large, officious-looking owl swooped down, skilfully avoiding the ebb and flow of shoppers...

"Mercy! There's a reply!" cried Harry, as the brown owl alighted on his shoulder.

The other boy was asking the lady what the sign meant. Mercy hurried to the threshold but Harry had already removed the letter from the owl's leg, and the bird flew up over the rooftops without waiting.

"Not from a student, Ben," said Mercy, noting the Ministry embossment on the envelope.

The old lady was telling the fair-headed boy, "It's a school for young children who show magical ability." His attention drooped to focus on his feet.

Mercy's eyes lit up. "The guardianship papers! Oh, Harry–Ben!" – The old lady's head jerked in her direction, then to the front of Harry's woolly cap – "_Arroben_, they're signed and settled, Arroben!"

Harry caught on immediately. "So I'm Arroben _Fuller_ now?"

"But that's fluxweed," whimpered the other boy nervously, pointing at the wheelbarrow in the window.

"No, this is not adoption uuh... you're still Arroben Higgins."

"But..." Harry gulped, oblivious now of the old lady's stare, and whispered nervously, "but... would it be alright anyway if I called you ... Mum? Only I've never... nobody's ever looked after me like..." He sniffled a little, rubbed his nose and looked awkward suddenly.

Mercy swallowed hard, her eyes shining with emotion.

The round-faced boy whispered, "Could you ask if they–"

"–Hush!" The old woman was gazing casually at what might have been a shopping list, but her attention was vibrantly alive to the exchange between the younger woman and the boy she'd called _Arroben_.

"Of course you can call me your mother, darling," said Mercy, and she crouched down to hug Harry as tears finally broke free and rolled down her cheeks.

Harry had never experienced anything like this before that he could remember. He was loved! The warmth of being cared for without reservation flowed through him like a physical wave. It was extraordinary. His eyes were now opened to what other children must have always known: there was someone to watch over him – not just for gold but for his own sake! With it came a tremendous sense of freedom, a release as if from an oppressive burden of fear that had always been pressing upon him.

The other boy tugged once more on the old lady's sleeve. "But it says–"

"–yes but only those who can do magic!"

Mercy stood up, rubbing the smears on her face, and choked up with emotion as she was, tried to clear her throat. "Madam, I teach all subjects suitable for seven to eleven-year-olds; students do not need to perform magic until they are ready."

"Humph! Don't see what you can teach him that I can't!"

"As well as essential reading and writing skills, there's an extensive introduction to Potions, History, Charms, Herbology and other subjects so he'll be well prepared for Hogwarts and, more importantly, I might be able to draw out his magic safely – perhaps in only a few months."

"There's nothing to draw out – don't you think we've tried?" She turned away. "Come along, Neville."

"There are no fees so nothing to lose by exploring one more avenue, is there?"

But the elderly lady had taken the boy's arm and was moving off.

"Please, Gran?"

_Never stop!_ "He's asking, Mercy," murmured Harry, and unexpectedly ran out into the street to pursue.

"Please let us try," cried Harry. "Our school truly wants to help anyone who asks."

Mercy could hear the woman sigh ten paces away.

"Then start by telling me your _true_ name," she said.

Harry bit his lip, but someone asking for help seemed to him more important than safety. "I'm Harry Potter – but I need to be careful on the street."

Neville's breath steamed in the cold air as he gasped in astonishment, but the woman nodded as if she'd already guessed. "Very well then." She turned to her boy. "Understand that I can't bring you every day, Neville. You'd have to board – and must look after yourself without me?"

He nodded vigorously, his eyes gleaming with both delight and hope.

"Just into the new year then while I visit your uncle Algie. After that... we'll have to see."

.

An Astonishing Invitation

Anne Granger read the letter she'd just opened with growing amazement:

_I run an academy for gifted children with unusual abilities and have received information that your daughter is especially talented. Uncontrolled, these skills sometimes produce effects that may seem inexplicable and baffling. However, with guidance, they can become most useful in later life to the advancement of the child's career and the benefit of all._

_Established in central London, my preparatory school accepts youngsters aged seven to eleven (at which time they will have an opportunity for further advancement.) Suitable general education is provided as well, and students may attend daily or board as desired. This institution is entirely supported by a private trust fund so there are no charges whatsoever, and all supplies, books, and related items are provided. _

_If you wish to know more, I can visit to answer questions on any day at your convenience. A guided tour of the school can also be arranged. I await your reply in due course._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor M. Fuller_

"Whatever's the matter, dear?" cried Anne's husband from the breakfast table. "You've gone white as a sheet."

She handed him the letter. "Hermione, tell me truthfully..." Mrs Granger hesitated. "That cracked saucer last year. ... How did you... find a replacement?"

Hermione Granger dabbed milky cornflakes away from her mouth with a tissue and glared at her mother. "I told you, I didn't! It just... fixed itself!"

"And Gertie's hamster?"

"She got better."

"In those few seconds? Her limp disappeared that quickly? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything, Mum!"

"You were on your knees sobbing, Hermione!"

"Scamps was in pain!"

"What were you muttering?"

Hermione shook her thick bushy hair. "Nothing. I just... I think... 'Please get better' was all. 'Please get better.' And..."

"Ahem! 'Inexplicable and baffling', it says here," said Mr Granger, tapping the letter with the back of his hand. "Telekinesis or somesuch triggered by emotional trauma."

"Oh, Edward!"

"I'm not saying I agree with the theory but I'm curious to know what this Fuller woman..." – he waved Mercy's invitation in the air – "has to explain away this paranormal nonsense."

"Sunday morning then?" said Mrs Granger. "The only day we normally have free and Hermione is at home."

"Me? Is the letter about me?" cried Hermione, clutching her cereal spoon even tighter as she strained forward.

The little girl's father pushed the message across the table towards his daughter who snatched it up and read greedily. Her eyes bulged. "Books!" she cried. "They provide free books, Mummy! Just think!"

.

The Croneometer

Mercy's raincoat was dripping when Mrs Granger answered the door.

"Professor Fuller? Come in out of the wet."

_Well, at least she looks respectable,_ thought Anne, as the visitor hung up her coat to reveal a sensible long skirt and knitted top in conservative tones matching her case bag.

"Shall we?" Mrs Granger guided Mercy to a seat in the lounge. "My husband, Edward, and this is Hermione."

"Pleased to meet you all and let's get straight to the point. Hermione, in our school you would develop your skills, for instance..." From her bag she pulled out and pressed flat upon the coffee table a small round brass device much like a clock but with a single hand that was swinging slightly over its dial in Mercy's direction.

"A compass?" said Mr Granger. "But it's not pointing north."

"A Croneometer."

Mr Granger smirked. "You mean a _chronometer_."

"No, a Croneometer. Its needle is influenced by a certain ability. Notice it has singled me out but if I push it towards Hermione..."

The pointer swung to the young girl who frowned down at it thoughtfully for a few moments before standing up and swerving quickly to one side. The needle turned to keep pointing at her.

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Nice trick, but–"

"–It's ultra sensitive. See if you can turn it, Hermione ..." said Mercy, taking out a clipboard and ballpoint pen.

Hermione's hand shot out towards the device but Mercy quickly added, "...without touching it."

"How?" frowned Hermione. She wafted her hands over the dial then clapped to see if it would react to sound.

"It's really important that you don't fail this test, Hermione," Mercy said quietly. "_Really_ important." Then finished with a whispered, "Otherwise you might become a serious hazard."

Mercy slowly marked a zero on the top line of her clipboard sheet, making sure that Hermione could not fail to notice. The young girl snapped upright, her face paling with anxiety as the seconds passed by, and Mercy marked another zero. Hermione nervously chewed her bottom lip, then growled irritably, clapping her hands even louder and blowing hard at the glass dial as near as she dared. "It's impossible!" she blazed defiantly. "How am I supposed to move it without touching?"

"Like this..." said Mercy, and with one wave of her arm the needle pointer spun several times before resting to aim once more at Hermione.

"Humph!" Hermione glared at Mercy, then her face relaxed into a crafty smile as she realised what was in Mercy's hand. "May I borrow your pen, please, Professor Fuller?"

"Certainly." Mercy handed it over.

With a triumphant smirk, Hermione waved the pen around and around the gauge. The pointer... spun!

Mr Granger clapped his hands very, very slowly. "Well ... done! It's really, really difficult to imagine how that was achieved! Let me see now..."

"Edward, please!" cried his wife, who recognised the steely sarcasm in his tone.

"But now you know how to do it," said Mercy, who ignored the couple and addressed herself entirely to the little girl, "do it without the pen."

"What!" said Hermione.

"There's nothing in the pen but ink. _You_ spun the pointer because you were so charged with the emotional certainty that you could. Seize that feeling, Hermione! You've already done it so you know you can."

Hermione's frown could have ploughed several fields and dug up a couple of back gardens. Her face puffed red with exertion... "MOVE!" she cried, banging the tabletop with her fist.

They all stared at the gauge.

"I DID IT!" crowed Hermione "I FELT IT!"

"Stop this! Stop this nonsense right now!" bellowed Mr Granger. "Stop messing with my daughter's emotions, Fuller! It's obvious you have a remote control for this... this..."

He tailed off because the Croneometer had lifted into the air and the entire device spun wildly before shooting around the room then coming back to rest on the table and transforming into a furious wildcat, spitting and snarling.

"Oh, jeez – oh shit!" Edward knocked his chair over backwards jumping up in fright as the beast leapt for his throat.

A vicious roar was all that remained as Mercy gestured swiftly and the creature vanished.

"OUT! OUT!" Mr Granger pointed angrily towards the door. "You're not performing any more of your trickery in this house!"

Mercy sighed, and her pen leapt to one hand as she rose to leave. "Hermione, I'd hoped to present the facts more gently to acclimatise everyone gradually, but don't give up hope. Someone else will come for you when you're eleven."

"I'm sorry, Daddy!" wailed the poor girl. "I didn't mean it!"

"I'll let myself out," said Mercy as she headed into the hallway followed by a confused Mrs Granger.

"_You_ did that, Hermione?" said Mr Granger. "That... _beast?"_

"Not on purpose!" she howled. "I lost control because I was angry! Now I can only b–be a s–serious hazard forever!"

"STOP!" shouted Edward. "Stop that woman leaving, Anne!"

But the front door had closed. Mr Granger dashed forward and pulled it open. Mercy Fuller was standing there waiting for him. "I forgot my Croneometer," she smiled.

Edward Granger shook his head and murmured, "Somehow I doubt you ever forget anything _Ms_ Fuller."

.

Persuading the Grangers

The Grangers looked nervously around the Academy's foyer. Mercy had shown them many strange sights as she'd led them into and through Diagon Alley, but the note she handed them made no sense:

_The entrance to Fuller's Academy is behind the reception desk at number one, Margin Alley._

The three of them returned to staring at the back wall. Apart from a gas lamp on a wooden pillar, the wall was a plain pastel green with no sign of the brickwork they'd seen open up at the back of The Leaky Cauldron.

"Ponder the words more carefully," said Mercy.

Hermione gasped. The pillar had divided into two posts which were moving out sideways to reveal a wide doorway. Only moments later her parents saw it too.

Mercy vanished the piece of paper with her wand tip. "Come through with me. Our other students are, I believe, exploring the roof garden."

She led them by two small classrooms, up stairs and along a corridor, past dormitories and bathrooms, until finally they emerged into a jungle of exotic plants. On all sides, the familiar London skyline was visible, but to their left was the contrasting Diagon Alley and other streets of the magical community. Tendrils of mist were drifting up around the fenced edges of the garden. "That's where my warming charm meets the cold air outside; it protects the plants through the winter. There's lots more to do of course. Managing this rather overgrown garden will be an interesting project for the students as an introduction to Herbology."

Mercy clapped her hands. Inquisitive little faces began to sprout amongst the tall gangly shrubs. "Come along, children, meet Hermione Granger who is considering joining us."

Out they bounced, beaming and curious and... with rather grubby hands.

"This is Justin Finch-Fletchley, Neville Longbottom, Thomas Dean, Hannah Abbot, Luna Lovegood, uuh... where's Harry and...?"

"He's showing Megan the library," said Thomas.

Mercy saw Hermione's eyes light up, so she made a show of studying her watch and shook her head doubtfully. "Mmm... I wonder if we'll have time to go down there today..."

She smiled at the eagerness in Hermione's pleading gaze, and laughed as she ruffled up the little girl's bushy hair. "Of course we'll make time for books. Come along then–"

"–Is that safety fence secure?" said Mr Granger as he went over to shake the rusty iron railings and look down into the shabby side alley; he counted four floors to the dirt track below.

"Protected by an invisible wind shield charm so they cannot collapse," said Mercy, "and the children couldn't climb over even they wanted to. This garden is still a work in progress and eventually the railings will be replaced."

The Academy's library was positioned next to Mercy's office and extended from the first to the second upper floor where a mezzanine provided lighter reading: gazettes, storybooks, and Muggle comics. The more serious, heavier tomes were grumbling on the back shelves of the floor below where they couldn't bother anybody too much.

As the Grangers entered, several ledgers and a novel, which had been dusting each other on a side table, snapped to attention, but the rest of the books were already proudly stacked along the tall shelves. Harry waved from an alley and came forward, followed by Megan Jones.

Mercy introduced them and showed the Grangers the huge leather-bound directory which instantly drew Hermione's attention. "So every book can be located from this index?" she asked.

"Located and summoned," said Mercy. "Try it."

Hermione's finger moved down a page in the middle... _Magic by Accident_ ... _Magic by Merlin_ ... then she jabbed at one called _Magic by Numbers_, but nothing happened.

"Well ask it then, Hermione," smiled Mercy, "or it might think you're still looking."

"Ask it?" The child rolled her eyes in disbelief. "You mean like... uumm... Oh, excuse me, erm... index, but could I read this one uuh... please?"

Mr Granger jeered loudly. That merriment ended abruptly when a book came whizzing past his head and into Hermione's hands.

"That's totally brilliant!" cried the girl. "Did you see that, Daddy!"

"Saw it, dodged it, almost bought it," sighed Mr Granger, brushing his hair back into place.

Harry cried, "Come and see the library step, Hermione, so you can browse the higher shelves."

She trotted after him. "'_Steps'_ you mean. It's plural so there's an 's' on the end. Yes, I know, we have them at our local library."

"Not like this one," grinned Harry as he came to a stop and pointed.

"But it _is_ only one step! It scarcely needs that handrail. And..." – she bent over to peer more closely – "it has no wheels! All library steps must have wheels so you can push them along; don't they know that? And lots more steps so you can reach books on higher shelves. That's what library steps are for, Harry. But even with steps, it's not a lot of use without wheels, is it? You can't drag it along, now can you? Especially if you were standing on it. Anyway, it would mark the floor very badly, wouldn't it?"

Harry winked at Megan who had followed them. "It's not touching the floor, Hermione."

Hermione bristled. "Oh for goodness sake!" She dropped to her knees to examine the underside of the platform. Her eyes bulged when she saw Harry was right.

He chuckled at her expression. "Takes two at a pinch – get on and I'll show you. Megan's already had a go!"

Astonished, Hermione tentatively prodded the step with her foot then placed herself half on to see if it would hold her weight. "That's... impossible! It's like a... hover board without a motor!"

Hermione lifted her other foot off the floor. There was only the tiniest wobble of the step – more of a quiver really.

Harry squeezed on beside her and, using only fingertip pressure along the edges of the bookshelves, pulled them both gently and weightlessly upwards and sideways. "Professor Fuller – we have to call her that in class time – says it's only broomstick magic she 'justed."

Hermione looked to the heavens and sighed. "You mean 'adjusted', Harry; 'justed' is not a real dictionary word is it? Or if it is then it's probably an archaic form of 'jousted', I suppose. We could look it up if you like," said Hermione, breathlessly clinging to the handrail as they swerved round a corner twenty feet above little Megan who was running excitedly after them waving.

Harry lowered the step to floor level and they both got off. "You can go back now if you like," he said.

"But... but I wanted to–"

"–Sorry, I was talking to the step. Hey, Megan! Show Hermione that spell you learned yesterday."

Megan pulled something from her pocket. "The sparks or the–?"

"–You've got a magic wand!" cried Hermione. "Does everyone get a wand?"

"Yeah, but it's only a junior wand till we're eleven," said Harry. "Do the tickling spell, Megan, then let Hermione have a try."

The Grangers watched their daughter squealing with laughter along with her two companions. "I've never seen her so happy since... well, since we bought her very first picture book," Anne said to her husband with a knowing look.

He nodded. "Nor watched her trying so hard to make friends..."

Harry was on the floor, squirming with a fit of the giggles and clutching his sides.

"I did it, Mummy!" shrieked Hermione, waving Megan's wand over the helplessly-wriggling boy. "My first proper spell on purpose!"

"Where do we sign, Mercy?" said Mr Granger.

"Step into my office," smiled the Headmistress who, unseen by them, winked back at Harry and gave him the thumbs up.

Twenty minutes later, with the formalities completed, Mercy presented Hermione with a care package crammed full of books, charmed objects, magical confectionery, a Squib wand, and her very own junior wand. The little girl face lit up and she was jumping with joy.

"I must repeat, Hermione, do NOT let any non-magicals other than your parents see you perform magic. The Squib wand – or safety wand as we prefer to call it – only performs set domestic tasks like brushing your teeth, but no special skill is needed as those functions are already charmed into it. The junior wand is less limited but you have to master each spell. Study the instructions and give special attention to reading my book, _An Introduction to Magic_ which has a complete section on secrecy."

"I will, I promise!" said Hermione, clutching her precious gift pack tightly.

"Thank you, Mercy," cried the Grangers as they were being shown out.

"See you tomorrow, Hermione!" called Harry and Megan.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

_Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

**– Hippothestrowl**

.


	3. Inspiring Progress

.

_So far... On his seventh birthday, Harry Potter was inspired to never stop asking for help. Thanks to Mrs Figg, he learned about magic, and found good support from Mercy Fuller who ran an advice bureau off Diagon Alley. With his funding, she set up a small junior academy primarily to provide Muggle-raised children with a good preparatory education. Soon they have several students all eager to learn. Now read on... _

.

**Chapter 3**

**Inspiring Progress**

* * *

.

A Careless Remark

Using her Croneometer, Mercy had proven to Neville that he was definitely not a Squib. "It wouldn't point so briskly towards you unless you were radiating significant magic," she explained.

"But–"

"–It doesn't matter that you can't spin it yet because that's entirely down to confidence, intent, and will, which I will help you to develop."

Within an hour of her encouraging guidance, he'd cast coloured sparks and a faint light with his junior wand – to his astonishment and pleasure.

"Also use your safety wand as well at every opportunity to become accustomed to casting spells because its bewitchment cannot fail, even for a Muggle. Doing that will increase your expectations and your authority with your junior wand. Carrying out tasks with magic should become a routine habit for a wizard such as yourself, Neville. And when you receive your adult wand you'll discover how powerful you truly are."

The weeks passed swiftly. Neville was still at the Academy in February. By then he'd become more hopeful that his grandmother might allow him to remain permanently, especially when he gleefully informed her by owl that he was performing magic at least as well as the other students, except perhaps for Hermione.

"You need to point your wand properly, Neville!" she cried. "Didn't you even listen to the instructions?"

"But..." Disheartened, Neville turned away and headed out the door.

"Now look what you've done, Hermione!" cut in Harry with barely-restrained anger. "Neville succeeded – that's what matters. He needs to polish it up a bit, but I thought he did it reasonably well."

Harry stomped off to find Neville, leaving Hermione biting her lip and gazing after him.

.

A Trip to the Ministry

Halfway through the month Mercy Fuller had to sign some documents at the Ministry, so decided to take all the students with her on a field trip. They were met in the Atrium by a tour guide from the Public Information Services Department. The Muggle-raised children learned a great deal of how magical society was organised and governed, and even Neville and Luna discovered things they'd never experienced before.

"I didn't know you could also go _down_ in a lift!" said Luna, jabbing a button for the fifth time. "I think they should call it a 'perpendicugo'"

"And paper can flap about!" cried Neville as a leaflet flew into the lift just in time to escape being crushed by the doors.

"That's just a flier," explained Polly Peckles, their guide, "but we also have memos flitting about."

"Are they written on flypaper?" asked Luna seriously, and wondered why everyone laughed.

Near the completion of the tour, they were herded towards the public canteen for drinks and snacks.

Mercy took Harry aside, seeming unusually nervous for her. "We need to talk."

"Mum? What is it?"

"Uuh... documents, Harry, we need to– Children, stay here with Miss Peckles until we get back."

She took his hand and led him to the wall not far from a lift where she crouched down to whisper, "Look, I know we agreed you could call me 'Mum', Harry, but–"

–He nodded anxiously. "You're not going to–"

"–How would you like to make it official?"

"You mean...? You'll be my... _real_ mother?"

Mercy nodded apprehensively. Would Harry be willing to go that far? – for someone he'd only known a few months to take that honoured place in his heart?

Harry's answer was to fling himself into her arms, shaking and sobbing with happiness. She rubbed his back and shed a few tears herself.

"I applied first to the Ministry to make sure I would be qualified so you wouldn't be disappointed if they rejected me. Now all they need is to ask you a few questions and get your agreement before they decide."

Mercy held his hand all the while the lift ascended, Harry trembling with excitement. He looked up at her now and again to remind himself she was real. His very own mother, just like normal kids! The door slid open and somewhere a cool, clear woman's voice was saying, "_Applications, Registrations, Separations and–_"

–Harry didn't hear the rest as Mercy led him round the first corner and knocked on a door with a brass sign that said _Meeting Room 12_ in a stern voice.

.

The Compatibilitectors

The office they entered was small but two witches and a wizard were crammed behind the large desk at one end and staring with a great deal of curiosity at Harry.

"Fuller and Potter – adoption." Mercy's tone was businesslike and to the point.

"Ah yes," said the central witch. "Right on time. Take a seat, please."

When they looked comfortable she poured out a steaming hot cup of tea, leaned forward and placed it on the desk halfway between the two visitors. Harry and Mercy exchanged looks, unsure what to do. Mercy opened her mouth to speak – then closed it again. The surface of the tea was rippling; little waves began to break. Pretty soon the steam darkened and rained down into the cup. Harry saw tiny lightning flashes and even thought he heard thunder. The cup rattled more and more ominously as it began to swell... He gripped the edge of the desk and looked fearfully towards Mercy who was frowning.

"Oh, no, no, no, this won't do at all," announced the central witch. "Completely incompatible!"

"T–Try th–this one instead," said the wizard, replacing the cup with a saucer of milk. His hand shook dreadfully as he put it down.

They all stared at it.

"Not a ripple," said the second witch after a full minute.

"Calm as a millpond," said the first.

"How strange," said the wizard. "It likes b–both of you! S–sorry about the teacup. These compatibilitectors can get a bit temperamental when I'm n–nervous. We had a sugar bowl explode only last week, and my funny bone–"

–The middle witch rustled a sheet of parchment in front of her and readied a quill. "So, Harry, just a few simple questions. Firstly, can you confirm you have been living full time with your guardian, Mercy Fuller, for at least three months?"

"Uumm... yes, uh..."

"Madam," prompted Mercy.

"Yes, Madam."

"And you've been happy with that arrangement and wish it to continue permanently by adopting her as your mother?"

"Definitely. Yes, Madam."

"Now, do you wish for your surname to be changed to Fuller or retain the name of Potter; the choice is yours."

Harry looked at Mercy, his lips squirming with uncertainty.

Mercy said, "I'd be very happy if you wanted to honour your natural parents' name and their family line, Harry. Remember, 'Fuller' is not my natural name anyway."

Harry smiled and turned back to the witch in charge. "I'd like to still be Harry Potter, please, Madam."

"Very well. One last question: do you fully understand that adoption is for life? It cannot easily be undone? Mercy Fuller would become your lawful mother with the same rights as any natural parent?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, that's what I want more than anything in the world."

"So be it."

The three nodded together, stood and held their wands out over the document, chanting as they did so. The parchment glowed briefly with a golden light, before returning to normal.

"Your adoption is now registered," said the central witch, handing the document to Mercy. "Merlin's blessings on you both."

"Thank you," said Mercy, trying not to cry.

"_Thank you,_" whimpered Harry, not trying at all.

As they left the room, and even back in the lift, Mercy remained silent, apart from hoarsely clearing her throat many times, and she did not release her tight grip on Harry' hand until she had to jab at the number nine button.

"Aren't we...? Isn't the canteen on the same floor as the Atrium?" whispered Harry, thinking she'd made a mistake.

"Harry, do you remember asking me to investigate why Voldemort tried to kill _you_ specifically?"

He started to shake his head, but a faint memory finally began to tickle the back of his mind. "and not some other kid? Yes, I remember. Have you found out?"

"No, but my research uncovered the registration of a prophecy that bears both your name and that of the Dark Lord."

"A prophecy! About me? What did it say?"

"I was not allowed access, but it must be important, and might have predicted his attack and why you were his target."

Harry stared at Mercy, his mind racing with the need to know more, but unable to form any sensible question. The abruptness of the lift stopping jolted him out of his whirling thoughts.

"Department of Mysteries," said the lift's cool female voice.

The lift doors rattled open, and they stepped out into a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the passage. A feeling of dread began to permeate the boy's mind. The walk towards that one door seemed to take forever...

.

The Prophecy

The Hall of Prophecy was high as a church and full of towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the blue light issuing from candle-brackets set at intervals along the shelves. The huge chamber was very cold. Harry and Mercy shivered a little, but the Keeper of the Hall seemed oblivious to the chill as he led them in. "This way..."

They passed a great many rows before he steered them into one and finally came to a halt, his wand light shimmering upon the surface of the orb before them. Harry Potter and his mother stared uncertainly. Harry was scarcely tall enough to reach. He stretched upwards–

"–I must caution you," began the Keeper – Harry's arm snapped back to his side – "there is uncertainty to all of these prophecies, and viewing one may be instrumental in bringing it about."

Mercy said, "Surely it is already fulfilled? If it foretold Voldemort's downfall when–"

"–Alas! This orb is merely the record of the prophecy but is magically bound to it and will vanish once its full purpose is completed."

"But that means..."

"...that the Dark Lord still lives in some way," said the Keeper. "Whatever is predicted can obviously only relate to a person if they are alive."

"Then I don't want to know," said Harry solemnly. "I only wanted to learn why he tried to kill me. I don't want to see the future. Can we stop it?"

"Stop the prophecy?" said the Keeper. "The orb is linked to it by magic, Mr Potter. if you never know its contents then the prediction loses its potency and can only be fulfilled by mere chance. That rarely happens."

Mercy said, "How could you possibly be sure without knowing the prophecies?"

The Keeper smiled and gestured broadly around the huge chamber. "Almost all of these orbs are ancient yet they have never vanished because so few visit."

"Eliminate this one then!" cried Mercy. "I don't want the uncertainty ruining our lives. Destroy it!"

"Only someone potentially affected by the prophecy – like Harry himself – is allowed to do that," said the Keeper.

"So I'm allowed to stop it happening?" said Harry.

"Well, yes, after all, it's _your_ prophecy. But the thing is you're only... what? six?"

Glaring at the man, and with his mother's support, Harry stepped up onto the bottom shelf, reached high, and seized the orb. He surveyed it for a few moments – then, with a shout of, "I'M SEVEN!" he hurled it at the floor.

"NO!" cried the Keeper. "You can only stop a prophecy by vanishing its orb! I thought you understood the–"

–But he was too late. A pearly-white figure with hugely magnified eyes rose into the air. Harry could see its lips moving. "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches_–"

Mercy's wand arm shot up–

"–NO! Only Harry could have done it!" cried the wizard, wringing his hands in alarm. "That's why I–"

"–_born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will_–"

–Harry fumbled out his Squib wand and pointed it shakily at the shattered glass on the floor.

"_mark him as his equal, but_–"

The broken shards of glass vanished together with the ghostly apparition.

The Keeper blinked. "How...? How by Merlin's staff can you–"

"–Cleaning up charm on my Squib wand," said Harry. "Was that alright? Did that make the prophecy not work?"

The wizard nodded dazedly. "Yes, the Dark Lord was previously vanquished even if only temporarily, so we heard nothing of the future, except–" He frowned as he peered at Harry's forehead through the gloom. "–but he hasn't marked you yet! I thought he already had?"

Mercy said, "Look closer. The mark is there, but so faint it is almost invisible."

The Keeper brought his wandlight nearer. "Ah, _there_ it is! So that part is in the past! I am confident now that you've destroyed the remainder of the prophecy's power over your future."

"Well done... _my son,_" smiled Mercy, ruffling Harry's hair.

Harry's face softened under his mother's praise. "But what now?"

"Nothing. If Voldemort is still alive then he's someone else's responsibility. We walk away from it all."

.

Being Accepted

Over the next few years, the Academy thrived in its own modest little way. More Muggle-raised children enrolled as well as a few sensible Pure-bloods; strong bonds formed between all of them – all, that is, except Hermione Granger.

"So is everyone now confident they can do up a shoelace in the dark or knot a tie with or without magic? – Don't roll your eyes, Hermione. Not every parent shows–"

"–But I'm not a baby, Professor! I'm eleven this week!" cried Hermione. "I learnt to tie a shoelace when I was four and read about knotting a tie when I was six! I showed Daddy he was doing it all wrong!"

"Even so, some parents do everything for their kids except teach them to be self-sufficient, magically or non-magically. For instance, do you fully understand the possible consequences of intoxication, know how to change the sheets on your bed, make an omelette, bleed a radiator, unclog a sink, give a speech, sew a hem, order a cab, ride a bicycle, read a map, understand table etiquette, be a good friend, give first aid, invest your money, obtain a mortgage, calculate a tip, or write a cheque, c.v., or job application letter?"

"Erm..." Hermione's ego deflated a great deal.

"No shame in not knowing any of the hundreds of life skills we need, but there may be difficulties in never learning them later in life. So, everyone happy with their shoelaces and ties?"

"Yes, Madam Fuller!" chorused the children.

"Very well, next week we'll be practising how to ask someone to dance, and how to refuse – or accept refusal – gracefully. This will be part of our relationship series. Class dismissed."

A clatter of chairs almost drowned out Hermione's, "Why aren't you making notes, Megan? You really ought to prepare for this with research – _that's_ what _I'm_ going to do."

"You can't get everything out of books! That's what these classes are for."

"What if you're rejected and everyone laughs? You'll get a T for sure! I've never scored a T in my life so I have to get this right – and so do you!"

The teacher was passing by. "You won't get a T, Hermione. You're _supposed_ to practise being rebuffed and laughed at in the class. It's how you deal with it that I will teach you. If you want to research, then read _Etiquette while Embracing Embarrassment_ and you'll be fine."

Hermione carefully wrote it down.

Laughing, Megan ran off after Hannah.

With a hunch of her shoulders, Hermione huffed and puffed resignedly as she packed pens and papers into her satchel.

"Hermione, a quiet word if you don't mind," said Mercy.

"Of course, Professor." Hermione stopped what she was doing and gnawed anxiously at her lower lip. Was she in trouble?

"I greatly admire your work ethic, Hermione, so I'm awarding you an extra merit mark which you can pin up on the board. Well done!"

Hermione's eyes shone with delight as she took the gold star. "Thank you Professor Fuller!"

"Anything else you need help with?"

"Well, the top end of the eleven times table is–"

"–Practise it with me over the next few days or as long as needed, Hermione, and it will become second nature. There is no time limit set. We can be patient together until the values spring naturally into your mind as easily as five times five. But, that apart, I was thinking more of social skills we've covered in earlier classes. What about friendship? How are you progressing?"

The little girl hung her head and mumbled something.

"Sorry? What was that, Hermione?"

"They don't really like me much."

"Have you explored why?"

"Some think I'm a bossy know-it-all – but I'm not! If they don't learn things properly they'll fail tests! I tell them but they won't listen! And they get into trouble with silly escapades. Harry..."

"What about him, Hermione?"

"Nothing."

"If you're referring to his clambering onto the next rooftop then–"

"–You know about that?"

"Of course. I apologised to him for my not giving prior advice about illegal entry and the risks. The building is empty and may or may not be unsafe. Margin Alley harbours many poor, and a destitute witch or wizard can be dangerous if startled in their squat. I made him extensively practice the shield spell from all sides and above, before I was satisfied I'd worried him enough not to repeat the folly."

"You didn't punish him?"

"He knows I'll be disappointed if he goes there again without good cause."

"Good cause! He has NO right to–"

"–If the school is on fire, or a student is magically compelled to attack him, or a dozen other reasons, then he has every right to make his escape as best he can."

The young girl pondered that for a while.

"Hermione, if you are willing, I'd like you and me to commence a new project together. You can carry out the active part of the assignment with myself as adviser and consultant. If this appeals to you then we'll spend some time each day planning strategies for you to try."

Hermione nodded her interest. "With what objective?"

"Friendship."

The child's face fell back into despondency. "None of them will ever want to be friends with me."

"That will not be the purpose of the project, Hermione."

"What then?"

"The aim of the project will be for _you_ to be a friend to them – or rather just one of them to begin with."

"Won't work." Hermione's bushy head shook from side to side. "Doesn't mean they'd be friends back. And they'd take advantage."

"Friendship is not trade, Hermione. _Being_ a friend is an end in itself requiring no payment in return. Be sensitive to their needs more than wishes – then you won't indulge and spoil them."

Still the unfortunate child hung her head.

Mercy said, "Oh, come on, there must be some of them you want to befriend."

"Well... I liked Hannah until she laughed at the very first draft sketch of a system's logic tree that I was drawing – and just because it was a _tiny_ bit wonky! I carefully explained it was irrelevant that–"

"–There is one student who would be kindhearted and sympathetic enough to overlook your... _slightly,_ shall we say, _pedantic_ methods, if they felt you reaching out – and who well knows the torments of loneliness."

"Who?"

"Harry Potter."

"WHAT! Harry hates me!"

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Anyone but HIM!" Hermione stamped her foot and sat back down at her desk, one hand on her bag as if anxious to be dismissed.

Mercy said, "Let's see now... I think Justin would be a severe challenge, and Luna would be no challenge at all."

"She's best friends with Neville," sniffed Hermione, staring down at her desktop. "Dean doesn't take me seriously and... NOBODY wants to be friends with me!"

"I do," Mercy said softly.

Hermione's eyes were glistening when she looked up.

"I'm not just your teacher, you know. I care about you very much, Hermione. You remind me a lot of myself when I was young and never formed a strong relationship until I was thirteen. At least you don't have to wait till then, because I'd love to be your friend right now."

Hermione's lower lip trembled and her breathing was convulsing in short bursts. She struggled up from her desk straight into Mercy's welcoming embrace where she shuddered and shook with emotion. "I w–wish I could b–be a g–good f–friend with–"

–The rest of her wish was lost in tears against Mercy's shoulder.

The kindly teacher patted her back. "An owl just flew past the window – for us witches, that's a good omen not bad. Perhaps there's a message from someone wanting to get acquainted – who knows? Or maybe it's from your mum; I'm sure she's your friend, right?"

Hermione smile was all crooked with embarrassment as she drew back and rubbed her eyes. "May I bring in the mail and see?"

"Off course – here's the key... my _friend!"_

Downstairs in reception, a large delivery cage was mounted next to the side door. A small owl was just struggling back out through the flap into Margin Alley as Hermione arrived, but there was no mistaking the pale blue envelope that topped the pile. She dug them all out and began to ascend back up the stairs to the Headmistress's office, fiddling all the way with the top letter, and not paying attention. The general rule was that all mail went into Professor Fuller's in-tray before distribution, she knew that, but a letter from home was always exciting.

"Drat!"

Half the envelopes and packets had slipped from her grasp. As she picked them up, one in particular grabbed her attention: it had her name on it!

_Miss Hermione Granger,  
Halfway-up-the-stairs,  
The Mercy Fuller Junior Academy,  
1 Margin Alley,  
London._

She squealed! Quiet loudly. Everyone in the Academy must have heard – and they'd all been taught what a Hogwarts letter looked like! But as she lifted it, the official heading on yet another envelope below it caught her eye:

_The Harry Potter Trust Fund,  
Gringotts Wizarding–_

"–Hermione? Are you alright?" cried Mercy from above. "I heard–"

"–Sorry! Just dropped the mail all over the steps!"

Hermione shovelled the lot together with her hands and ran full tilt, stumbling on every other leap in her haste, and dumped the lot into Mercy's tray. "I saw my Hogwarts letter! PLEASE may I open it? PLEASE?"

Seeing her begging with her eyes and bouncing on her heels, Mercy could not resist the eager girl's gullibility. "Too early – must be another prank letter by Dean. Hmm... yes, I thought I saw him pushing one in the cage this morning." She took out her wand. "I'll vanish it. No point in–"

"–NO! What if..." she tailed off as she saw a teasing grin creeping across Mercy's face, and the teacher's wand hovered the letter into Hermione's hands.

"Friends kid each other, right?" smiled Mercy.

Hermione beamed as she tore open the envelope... "I'M ACCEPTED!"

Mercy laughed uproariously. "You don't say!"

"I have to show the others!" cried Hermione, heading out the door. "I'm the oldest so none of them will have got theirs yet!"

"Aren't you forgetting something, Hermione?"

The girl stopped in mid stride. "Oh, right... bragging would not be very friendly, would it?"

"That wasn't what I meant..."

Hermione turned. Mercy was holding out a pale blue envelope.

"Mum and Dad! How could I have–?"

She dashed back, seized the additional letter, thanked Mercy as she sprinted away once more, then shouted back over her shoulder, "I won't mention my Hogwarts letter!"

Mercy smiled at the cries from further up the stairs. "Hear that?" – "Someone's got their Hogwarts letter!" – "Did someone say they'd–?" – "Who's got–?"

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

_I'm moving events forward in time quite rapidly because, unlike Hogwarts, the Academy is run so smoothly and so safely that it would be dull storytelling indeed. Things should get more interesting when the kids get to Hogwarts! _

_Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

**– Hippothestrowl**

.


	4. Friendship

.

_So far... On his seventh birthday, Harry Potter was inspired to never stop asking for help. He learned about magic early, and with Mercy Fuller launched a junior academy mainly for Muggle-raised children aged seven to ten. Friends were made but Hermione needs Professor Fuller's help with relationships. Mercy adopted Harry and they destroyed the potency of the Prophecy. Now read on... _

.

**Chapter 4**

**Friendship**

* * *

.

Passing The Test

Three dark October weeks passed by during which Mercy gave Hermione private instruction on becoming a friend. They were hard lessons.

"Abandon every desire to _get_ Harry to be your friend, Hermione. Surrender all hope that he might appreciate, admire, and respect you, because your happiness need not depend on what others think of you. Ponder everything I've taught you about _being_ a friend when someone needs one. Do not look for opportunities to _prove_ this – you've absorbed enough to naturally grasp them as they arise. If you are focused on being a friend then you already are everyone's friend even if they don't know it yet. You will have succeeded with every second in which you care."

Hermione was trying to write down all these words, but Mercy stayed her hand. "Heart not head, Hermione. Do not try to _apply_ your friendship in any way; it's not a sticking plaster but the healed situation itself. Don't celebrate having friends, instead, rejoice in your own friendliness and let that be sufficient. Friends are just a reflection of your own companionable nature; the proof, if it were needed – but it's not."

The professor smiled as she watched the girl now carefully writing her _own_ observations instead of Mercy's words. "So... what will be your goal?"

Hermione's head tilted thoughtfully on one side. "To be as friendly a person as I can."

"Why? To what end?"

"To no end. To be friendly _is_ the end."

The wise teacher nodded. "Let's rehearse again. I'll be Harry this time. ... So, hey, Hermione, looking forward to Hogwarts next year?"

"Of course, Harry! Aren't you?"

"Mmm... might stay here actually."

"WHAT!"

"It is my home after all, and it's so brilliant here."

"But what about – surely you can't – don't you want–" – Hermione's lower lip was trembling – "Harry, all your friends will be going!"

"Maybe not. We've been talking together about it for a while now. Hogwarts is overrated."

"But I'll – you'll be – we – how –" Hermione was blinking away real tears.

"Don't tell me you'd miss us?"

"Of course I'd–" Hermione was suddenly shaking with the realisation that she'd feel empty without the familiarity of them all – Luna with her funny way of talking – Harry's reckless lack of discipline – even Megan's teasing, mild as it was in perspective. "Please, please don't–"

"–Hey, hey! Hermione!" soothed Mercy, grasping the poor girl by the shoulders. "It's not real. We're playacting remember?"

Hermione's eyes came back into focus. Sniffling, she groped for a tissue but her bag was out of reach. "C–can we p–put this lesson off f–for another day, please, Professor?"

"There won't be another lesson, Hermione. You've passed the final test. Now you have to live it."

.

Making a Difference

With a private moment facing the gloomy back of the library, Justin Finch-Fletchley reached into his pocket, pulled out a well-read letter from his father one more time, and smiled fondly through the words.

"I'm sure they're very proud of you, Justin," came a tentative voice from behind.

Startled, he turned. "Oh, Hermione ... yes ... Mother wasn't sure about me coming here, but now they're both thrilled that I'm so well prepared for Hogwarts. They had me down for Eton originally, you know. Seems so strange after these last few years..."

"Yes, nothing will be the same anymore. I wish I'd–"

"–Shame they'll divide us all up into houses. I expect you'll be in Ravenclaw. Harry will be a Gryffindor."

Hermione felt a lump forming in her throat. She hadn't considered this additional separation. "We'll see each other in classes though – well, some of them anyway."

"And at meals," nodded Justin, brightening up a little. "Hey, perhaps we could form a club: 'The First Academicians' ... 'Class of 87' that sort of thing. Wonder what rules they have about–"

"–To hell with the rules!" cried Hermione, startling Justin for a second time. "They can't stop us meeting together. Not after all we've–"

–Justin was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "You've changed since you got your letter."

"Yes, well–"

"–Who's changed?" called Harry, who was heading their way, scanning the shelves for an obscure book on European magical migration. "Did you two finish your History homework? What did you put for the start of the Norwegian Ministry?"

"You don't need the date, Harry," said Hermione. "Just show you have a basic idea of the spread of magic to form communities."

"Ah, right." _Never stop..._ "But what about–"

"–Hermione and I were discussing Hogwarts, Harry," said Justin. "We don't want to get split up."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, Luna's upset she'll be separated from Neville by a whole year."

"I'll speak to her." Hermione looked up at the mezzanine, but Neville and Luna were _not_ reading their favourite comic on the balcony.

"_You'll_ speak to her, Hermione?" frowned Justin, looking askance at Harry.

Hermione murmured, almost to herself, "I read something about Hogwarts that might help her."

"Try the roof then." Harry watched her nodding back thanks as she hurried off. A strange thought occurred to him which he voiced aloud: "She's different."

"That's what _I_ said." Justin waited for Harry to look at him, then he grinned.

_Never stop asking._ "So anyway, Justin, about the spread of magic through Europe..."

.

Good Grief

"Hello, Hermione," said Luna, who was sitting, motionless and alone, on one of the two swings that had recently been installed in the roof garden. "I was hoping you'd come visit me."

"You _were?"_ said Hermione, taking the other swing.

"Yes, I'm feeling sad because you and Justin are already eleven but I won't even be ten until February. Everyone in our year will be going to Hogwarts next year except me and all the younger children think I'm a little peculiar and I told my best friend Neville to forget about me because I cannot stay with him over Christmas and Mummy died last week so Daddy is lost in confusion and I can't leave him on his own during the holiday so I don't know what to do anymore about the voice talking in my head."

The poor girl covered her face with trembling hands to hide a flow of tears, but her shoulders visibly shook as new grief poured out.

Overcome with her own surging emotion, Hermione dropped down beside Luna, hugging the youngster as best she could and rubbing her back. "There, there, we'll come through this pain. We all care about you, and Neville simply will NOT forget about you and nor will anybody else. I lost my nan when I was little and Daddy said he's sure he felt her watching over us, so your mum is looking out for you still. Mourn a little from time time but occasionally say 'enough!' I used to lift my chin at those times and nod to myself. Sometimes I waved up to the heavens at nan, and said I'm alright now for a bit. Oh, the pain eventually returned but by asserting that control when I could, eventually the hurting faded. Yours will too."

"Really? It feels like my heart is dying, my chest is so painful."

"Then try it now just for half a minute. Stand up, look up, straighten your shoulders, be awake to your mind only and nothing outside, and say, 'Even if I can't stop sad things happening, I don't have to put up with sad feelings as well – at least I can turn away from them while I'm focused.' Take charge even if briefly. Ponder that for a short while, then we'll sit down and rightly grieve together a little more. _You_ are in control of the balance, Luna. You have the right to these minutes of relief without feeling guilty."

Luna did so. After a while, a grim smile touched her lips and she nodded slowly.

"Feeling a tiny bit better?" said Hermione. "So now let's sit down and mourn a little if you want."

Wiping away a tear, Luna said, "I don't think I need to right now."

"That's good then, but remember, when the sadness comes back, respect it, experience it for as long as you must, but then take a stand again. The more you do it, the longer the periods between the sorrow. Now, let's go and find Neville and ask him..." Hermione lapsed into whispering as they departed the roof, and Luna's wan smile turned into a giggle...

.

A Brilliant Idea

A peel of laughter from above interrupted Justin's library quiet time.

"Luna's cheered up a little," Megan told him, as she came back down from the mezzanine, "and it ain't just because they're reading Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn again."

"Yes, Neville's going to ask his gran if Luna's father can stay with them over Christmas too – Hermione's brilliant idea."

"It was?" Megan nodded her approval. "Where is she? Hermione, I mean?"

Harry looked up from the next table. "Probably with Mum – I mean the Headmistress – arranging her own Christmas break." He was pointing towards the Head's office. Through the frosted glass window in the door, they could just make out the bushy hair...

.

Building Bridges

Mercy Fuller nodded eagerly and jotted something down in her notebook. "That's a wonderful idea, Hermione; I'll find out as soon as the holidays are over. Are you looking forward to seeing your parents?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes, it'll be a real family Christmas. It'll be wonderful to chat and do things with Mum and Dad everyday."

There was a slightly wistful tone in Hermione's voice which Mercy picked up on immediately. "How's progress with our friendship project going?"

"Uumm, well, I think like you said I'm beginning to feel more friendly with everyone..."

"But...?"

"I still don't think anyone sees me as their best friend yet though."

"Except myself and your parents, you mean. Don't worry, you're building bridges and they will come across. Just don't _watch_ for them or think about what you can _get_ from them. Concern yourself only with _being_ a friend, remember?"

"I will."

.

Included

Only Harry remained at the Academy over Christmas, but he was looking forward to the new year and most especially starting at Hogwarts. His thoughts turned to how he might console Luna. "Her birthday's at the start of February, Mum; I want to give her something really special. Any ideas?"

"She's an unusual girl, Harry, so I'm not sure. Perhaps you'd better ask around for suggestions when the others get back."

_Never stop asking._ Through January, he pestered Megan, Hannah, and even Neville, but if any of them had any good ideas they were keeping them as their own gifts for Luna. _Never stop asking._ The answer, when it came, was from an unexpected source while he was studying simple textile Transfigurations in the common room with Dean and Justin. Some of the other fourth-years were listening in to the heated debate.

"So it's still a cotton shirt?" snapped Dean. "What's the point if we're only changing the weave? And what's it got to do with learning girly makeup!"

"And the colour. Suppose you were walking towards a high class restaurant wearing a bright red shirt; you could turn it white."

"Big deal! Like I'll be doing that everyday."

"Well, that was just an example off the top of my head. It's really an easy introduction to Transfiguration proper. Look, Mum knows what she's doing!"

"With girls," cut in Justin, "but boys don't need to–"

"–That reminds me," said Harry, glancing around to see who was about. "Any clues as to what I can get Luna for her birthday? I was thinking maybe a cosmetics charm kit?"

"WHAT!" blurted Hermione from the next table. "Luna will be only ten and anyway her tastes are far too eccentric for the standard kit to be of any use!" "She'd..." The girl's cheeks flushed suddenly, and she dropped her head. "_sorry..._"

Harry frowned at the intrusion, then corrected himself. _Never Stop asking._ "No, no, that's alright, Hermione," he said hastily. "I'm not very good at gift-giving. What do you reckon would make her happy?"

Hermione's expression brightened somewhat. "Well, the most important thing to Luna is friendship. She's scared of losing that when you all leave for Hogwarts in September. Why not throw a big party on her birthday to show her she'll never be forgotten and everyone will keep in touch by owl and so on?"

Silence.

"That's BRILLIANT, Hermione!" cried Harry. "We'll surprise her and–"

"–No, tell her almost everything you're planning to do – and why. She'll happily look forward every day from now to her birthday in anticipation!"

"'_Almost_ everything?'" grinned Harry.

"Well, a few extras here and there wouldn't hurt, would they?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Was that a wink? Did Hermione Granger just wink at me, everyone?"

"Sure did," smirked Justin.

"I saw it too," said Megan. "Unless that's an... IMPOSTER!"

"Yes, prove you're still Hermione!" laughed Hannah. "Say something really smart and bossy!"

Hermione was so flushed with excitement at the ribbing, her mind went slower than a constipated sloth stuck in a bog.

_Never Stop_ prompted Harry to her rescue. "I have a tough question for you, Hermione that will prove you are who you appear to be once and for all." He smiled. "I mean, you're a girl, but why do we boys have to do makeup class as well?"

"Huh, that's easy. You don't have to actually _do_ makeup – it's an optional part of the general classwork on personal appearance for those boys who erm... want it. It's called 'gender equality', Harry. Muggles are still learning this because physical force dominated for several millennia, but Magicals live by magic, not bodily strength, and wizards have always known witches share magical equality. Muscular advantage is irrelevant to them. However, 'equality' doesn't mean 'identical' especially in certain activities such as dress sense and glamour. Allura Charis provides a complete exposition of these ideas in her book: _À Bas L'Indifférence!_ if you wish to do further research. There might be an English translation in Flourish and Blotts if your French isn't strong enough for the more subtle passages."

Silence.

"That was nowhere near _know-it-all_ enough to be the real Hermione," Justin said with a straight face. "I suggest we search her for birthmarks or even name tags on her underwear."

Hermione was chased squealing and giggling out the door. She didn't stop running till she reached her room where she sat on her bed shaking. They'd been laughing _with_ her! Not _at_ her! Like friends joke with each other. She'd felt _included_ in a group for the first time. Had she imagined it? She didn't think so. They might not have yet fully traversed her bridges, but they sure were looking across!

And Mercy had been right to not _search_ for ways to be friendly – it had all happened naturally just because Harry couldn't be trusted to–

–Hermione's bushy head jerked back with a jolt as a faint memory tickled the back of her mind. _'Not very good at gift-giving'? Couldn't be trusted to think of something appropriate? Trusted?_

Her thoughts went way back to the day her parents had invited Professor Fuller to their home: _'This institution is entirely supported by a private trust fund so there are no charges whatsoever, and all supplies, books, and related items are provided.'_

Hermione went over to her own little bookshelf and picked out a book at random. Like most of them, this one had a dedication page near the front: _A gift with love from the Mercy Fuller Junior Academy – a Place of Asking._

Why had these thoughts come to her? What was the connection? And it hit her: the day she'd carried the mail upstairs and stumbled, spilling them down the steps. She'd been too preoccupied with receiving her Hogwarts letter! She'd forgotten the _other_ envelope! The one marked on the back:

_The Harry Potter Trust Fund,  
Gringotts Wizarding Bank!_

Behind the scenes, without saying a word, it was Harry that had been secretly funding the entire Academy and every student who lived and worked there! 'Not very good at gift-giving'? Not much!

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The Finest of Gifts

Hermione had been right about Luna looking forward to her birthday. By the start of February the eccentric blonde was sizzling with excitement! The thirteenth was a Wednesday, but Mercy cancelled lessons for the afternoon, provided they each promised to refuse one request to dance so as to keep in practice at handling rejection. Luna's party began in the main common room. Her father had been invited too. He'd printed a giant birthday card for his daughter – "Well, it's not every day you get to be ten, is it?"

Megan had arranged for a third-year boy called Colin Creevey to take magical photographs of everyone waving which she then mounted in an album and presented to Luna. Someone had even given the delighted birthday girl a cosmetics charm kit but nobody knew who (though Hermione swore she saw Harry wink.) But the best gift was not announced until after the evening dinner when Mercy Fuller stood up to make an announcement:

"Sometimes the finest of gifts can cost nothing but an act of great friendship: a gesture, a conversation, even just a shared thought. One particular idea has borne fruit. I have here a special invitation which arrived this morning. Come forward please, Luna."

Smiling, the Headmistress offered up a thick, yellowish envelope which Luna accepted with trembling fingers. Her name was written upon it in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Luna turned it over. On the back she saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'. Luna stared in disbelief, not daring to open it. "Is this...? Is it real? How is this happening?"

Mercy explained. "The Hogwarts Rules and Guidelines were researched and it was confirmed that transfer students are placed in the year most fitted to their skills; fifteen-year-olds are mostly placed in fifth year for instance. However, this is not always so. All of you here, including Luna, are halfway towards second year – and well beyond in subjects they don't even teach. I convinced the Hogwarts Headmaster to accept you as a first-year Luna, along with all your friends."

Luna seemed unable to move. Her lips quivered silently, and her gaze was fixed dreamily on the envelope in her hands. But everyone else made up for her mute paralysis: Roars of approval! Handclapping, foot-stamping, and shouts of congratulations were almost drowned out by those chanting, "OPEN IT! OPEN IT! OPEN IT!"

Finally, eyes shining, Luna obliged, unsealed the envelope with a charm, then triumphantly held up her Hogwarts acceptance letter!

But after the hubbub had died down, Harry raised a hand, a suspicious frown on his face. "Whose idea was this, Professor? Who did the research?"

Mercy was still smiling, anticipating the question. "Why, Hermione Granger of course."

Hermione had the grace to blush as all eyes swivelled her way. She was hoisted up and carried around in celebration along with Luna herself of course. And Dean jumped up on one of the tables pushed at the side and attempted a jig, and even invited Harry to join in (without success), but it was a pathetic, too-much-Butter-beer type of jig which made it all the funnier in the circumstances and started up the music one last time. And Harry asked Hermione to dance but as quickly as her face lit up, disappointment replaced it. She'd remembered the promise to reject at least one request – so that's what she had to do.

Harry and Hermione both looked at each other with regret, especially Harry, who wasn't handling the refusal anything like as good as he'd been taught. But Hermione, being smart and not an impostor at all, had another brainwave which was that there was nothing in the rules saying _she_ couldn't ask _Harry_ to dance. So that's what she did, and Harry, who had already rejected Dean's invitation to jig, was free to accept Hermione's. It was a great end to a wonderful party, and the promise of a new beginning come September at Hogwarts!

.

—oOo—

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* * *

**Author's Notes**

_Wow! Nice reviews without any tricky questions to answer or explanations to give, so I must be doing something right at last! (Or you readers are getting smarter?) _

_With that encouragement, I'm launching yet another new story today or tomorrow; a sidequel to 'Broken!' called 'Broken Utterly' where baby Harry is totally crushed by the Dursleys into a shuffling, subservient mind-slave. This is nothing like 'Broken'. Harry is not street-hard; he's pathetic! (Bit like 'Chary Potter' without the steroids.) How can he survive Hogwarts let alone Voldemort! Fortunately, there's a smart little witch to help. Look out for that one. And don't forget 'Chance of a Lifetime' is not forgotten but still brewing in the cauldron! _

_Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

**– Hippothestrowl**

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	5. A Bad Start

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_So far... On his seventh birthday, Harry Potter was inspired to never stop asking for help. He learned about magic early and, with Mercy Fuller, launched a junior academy, mainly for Muggle-raised children aged seven to ten. Mercy adopted Harry and they destroyed the potency of the Prophecy. Strong bonds of friendship were formed – but would they be separated by the Sorting Hat now they were all going to Hogwarts? Read on... _

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**Chapter 5**

**A Bad Start**

* * *

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The Staring Contest

Four children stared at the four opposite them in the train carriage; they in turned stared back. Dean was the first to crack. His mouth twitched which made Megan laugh. Pretty soon Harry and most of the others joined in, leaving only one still motionless and expressionless.

Harry grinned. "You win, Luna."

She didn't stir.

"Luna?" said Neville, giving her a nudge.

The dreamy girl's eyes blinked open. "Oh, did we finish?"

Hermione, who was sitting directly opposite Luna, squealed. "You cheated! Magic staring eyeballs with real eyes closed! I can't believe you actually broke the rules! And did you cast a muffling spell on your ears?"

Luna frowned. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Hermione squealed again. "You DID! You actually did!"

Once more, Neville nudged Luna's arm. She pulled little corks out of her ears and began threading them back onto her necklace. "What happened?"

"You cheated is what happened!" cried Hermione.

Another frown. "What were the rules again?" said Luna.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Last one to make a sound, move, or blink is the winner, and NO MAGIC is allowed."

"She didn't use ANY magic!" protested Neville. "Luna simply used black and white eyeliner to draw eyes on her eyelids before we started."

"From her MAGICAL cosmetic charms kit!"

Neville smiled. "Yes but without the movement spells because the eyes only had to stare fixedly."

"But you... you KNEW!" blustered Hermione. "You... you... ACCOMPLICE you!"

Luna shook her head. "There can't be an accomplice without a misdemeanour. I think you mean an assistant or associate if the word you were thinking of begins with 'A'. _Does_ it begin with 'A'? If not, there are a great many words you–"

–Neville groaned loudly. "You'll definitely be in Ravenclaw, Luna. And I'll be..."

Harry shook his head disapprovingly at Neville's slump. "Remember what I said. Keep the Sorting Hat talking. _Never stop_ asking it questions. Don't give in, Neville. Ravenclaw's not just for the extra-intelligent students, but also those who have learnt a lot of stuff. It's not only how big your bucket is, but how full it is! Show it you're as educated and knowledgeable as the rest of us, and you'll win through. Remember, _never stop!"_

"That's not all it takes into account, Harry," said Justin. "Each of us are loyal comrades through thick or thin. I reckon we'll all be in Hufflepuff."

Harry shrugged. "So long as I'm not in Slytherin, I don't care what house I get put in." He regretted the way he'd said that immediately; he really wanted to be in the same house as all his friends.

Hermione kept her silence. Ravenclaw didn't seem so attractive anymore. Was Luna's intelligence too oddball to get into that house? And the girl valued friendship highly, so might be drawn into Hufflepuff. Harry and Neville would be Gryffindor, who did that leave? Megan, Justin, and Hannah would surely join Luna in Hufflepuff. Dean wasn't stupid but despite trying hard, Hermione doubted he'd mastered any subject advanced enough to make it into Ravenclaw. Still, he was brave and noble enough to be in Gryffindor. Hermione began to fear she would be apart from them all in Ravenclaw.

As the train lurched around a bend she suddenly felt a queasiness stirring in her stomach, and Luna was giving her an odd look. "The staring contest is over, Luna," said Hermione.

"Oh, is it? I was enjoying that," said Luna. The dreamy girl's real eyes finally blinked. "Who won?"

_Definitely not Ravenclaw,_ wailed Hermione to herself. _I'd be on my own._

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A Sort of Failure

The great castle was as imposing inside as outside. The magical ceiling in the Great Hall enhanced the huge chamber even more. Harry Potter focused on it, reciting his _never stop_ mantra, as names were called out by Professor McGonagall, awaiting his turn.

He smiled as Hannah and Justin were both, as expected, Sorted into Hufflepuff. It was Hermione he was most concerned about. She was muttering to herself and appeared dreadfully nervous. "_Don't worry,_" he whispered out of the side of his mouth, "you're sure to get into Ravenclaw. But if it's borderline, then just remember what Mum told us about the Hat and _never stop_ asking it for what you want."

He saw her lips compress into an anxious line. Was that a teardrop? "_Herm–"_

"–Granger, Hermione," called McGonagall.

Damn! He'd wanted to wish her good luck. He watched as she squirmed, Hat on head. _Come on, Hermione! You can do this! Go Ravenclaw!_

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the Hat.

"YES!" Harry pumped his fist and almost jumped to his–

"–Be quiet, Potter!" McGonagall glared at him, but Harry did not see or hear her. All he knew was that Hermione's shoulders had sagged in defeat as she walked towards the Ravenclaw table. She was holding a handkerchief to her eyes! Was she... crying?

"Jones, Megan!"

Harry jerked back to reality. What was wrong with Hermione? She'd been looking forward to this all year.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" cried the Hat, and Megan trotted off happily to join Hannah and Justin.

Was Hermione ill? Was it the long journey? Harry fretted and gnawed at his lower lip. As soon as the Sorting was over, he'd start asking a teacher to get her medical help, and he'd NEVER STOP until–

"–Longbottom, Neville!"

Another long tussle. Harry began to wonder if perhaps he shouldn't have told everyone to never stop asking the Hat to–

"–GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the Hat.

Neville practically fell off the stool. He could hardly stand, and seemed in a daze as he walked to the Gryffindor table. That was more understandable. Harry knew how friendly Neville was with–

"–Lovegood, Luna!"

Luna appeared very resolute. She was gripping the Hat firmly on her head and appeared to be arguing with it. Several times the Hat opened its mouth to speak but was stifled by a little hand.

"RAY–mmm... RAVE–mmmmmmm... RAVEN–mmmmmmmm ... RAVENCLAW!" the Hat shouted finally.

Luna glanced wistfully towards Neville, then headed towards Hermione who had somewhat mastered her own demons and put an arm round Luna to comfort the young girl. Hermione had been a good and selfless friend to everyone at the Academy, especially in their last year, Harry now realised. An emptiness took him without warning. Life wouldn't be the same without–

"–Potter, Harry!"

A curious hush fell upon the assembly, then just as unexpectedly, tiny whispers hissed and fizzed from all directions:

"Potter, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the Hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the Hat. He waited.

_Hmm..._ said a small voice in his head. _Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting ... So where shall I put you?_

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin._

_Not Slytherin, eh?_ said the small voice. _Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. But then again, such a thirst for knowledge! I don't recall anyone being so well prepared for Ravenclaw – no? Well, if you're sure – better be GRYFF–_

–_NO WAIT!_ Harry tilted the Hat upwards slightly. He could see Neville, pale-faced and looking hopefully at him. But then there was Luna and... Hermione was staring helplessly at him open-mouthed! What if they never shared classes? What if he never got to speak to her again! _NEVER! NEVER STOP!_ He wriggled indecisively on the stool. _Why can't Neville be Sorted into Ravenclaw?_

The Hat raised its brow in astonishment. _Longbottom? He's already Sorted. Students are never Sorted twice!_

_Never?_

_Not ever_

_NEVER STOP! ... What if you made a mistake–_

– _I didn't and I don't. Yes, children can change as they grow older but they are NEVER reSorted. It's what they are here and now that matters, so Longbottom must remain where he is Sorted. But YOU can still be Sorted into Gryffindor with him._

_NEVER STOP! ... Can't I be in TWO Houses?_

_Impossible!_

_NEVER STOP! Must be a way for friends to remain together? Neville just CAN'T be on his own! There must be a way!_

_There isn't. You have to decide – or I will._

_NEVER STOP! I refuse. You must allow me to–_

–_You can't outsmart me, but you have now shown you are smart enough for..._ "RAVENCLAW!" shouted the Hat.

_But..._

"Come along, Potter, others are waiting!"

Harry never heard the applause. His thoughts were in confusion. Once he'd set his mind on a goal he'd never yet failed even if he had to spend months trying. How could this be?

Quietly he took his place next to Hermione and Luna, keeping his eyes down. He daren't look across to the Gryffindor table.

"Thomas, Dean!"

His eyes followed the boy as he sat on the stool. Good old Dean! He was sure to–

"–HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry was devastated. Neville on his own in ruddy Gryffindor! Still he daren't look.

"Weasley, Ronald!"

Harry had led them all astray. Harry bloody Potter had advised his friends to never stop trying, yet Neville, Hermione, Luna, and even himself had all been unhappily Sorted. Perhaps the _never stop_ message burnt onto the birthday card he'd made for his seventh birthday really was magical and intended only for him? And the words had all been about asking for and giving help. Obviously they wouldn't fulfil your every whim! If only he'd–

"–GRYFFINDOR!"

Without thinking, Harry watched the redheaded boy walk to his table. He sat down next to two boys Harry didn't know, though one might have been called Seamus something. Opposite them, with his back turned away from Luna and himself, was Neville. Destroyed.

Harry had let them all down. He looked up shamefacedly. Hermione's face was wet and shining with happiness and Luna was– WAIT! _Happiness?_ "Hermione? You okay now?"

"Never better," beamed Hermione.

Oh well, thought Harry, perhaps something could be salvaged from this train wreck. He could see his Hufflepuff friends chatting away and waving at him. He himself was feeling more cheery. Perhaps, somehow, Neville and Luna could...

He sighed. He'd ask a few teachers, and he'd keep on asking, but somehow his confidence in his own mantra was shaken. Neville was on his own.

.

No Sense of Belonging

Neville sat on his bed staring mournfully around his dormitory. A boy called Ron Weasley was chatting with two others, but Neville felt out of it.

One of them was asking Ron, "That a Chudley badge?"

"Yeah – see how the cannonball flies when it catches the light?" Ron tilted the shiny effect close to the nearest wall torch, then, like a medal on display, proudly propped it up on top of the clothing in his travel chest for all to admire. He stood aside so everyone could see it clearly. "They're normally fifteen Silver-Sickles but my brother Charlie got this one for me. It's the scale off a real dragon."

The extraordinary shimmer caught Neville's eye and drew him in. Somehow, the cannonball seemed to continue travelling in a direct line yet remained confined within the emblem. On and on and on it strove without attaining anything or reaching anywhere. Mesmerised, Neville heard himself say, "No, that's polished _Signum Verum_ – nature magic. It captures and reflects the true state of what's represented on its surface, making it invaluable to collectors."

Ron's neck flushed. "I tell you it's a dragon's scale! And it IS valuable! Shows how little you know."

"_I know about plants,_" muttered Neville. _But not quite enough, apparently, for the Hat to Sort me into Ravenclaw._ If only he could have been a _tiny_ bit smarter!

Their chatter resumed, and Neville tuned them out. He belonged with his friends, not here with these strangers. He'd trusted Harry, believed in him... He paused in his thinking _I DO trust Harry. I DO believe in him!_

A new grim look of determination crossed his face as he tucked his legs under the covers and settled down to sleep. Tomorrow he'd start asking questions. And he'd never stop. That's what Harry did, and that's what he'd do too.

.

An Absent Friend

Monday morning, Harry, Hermione, and Luna headed down for breakfast. "Don't worry, Luna," said Harry. "We'll get organised. When we receive our timetables we'll see which classes we share with Gryffindor, and we can also find out if Neville can sit with us at mealtimes and homework with us in our common room. Then there's weekends! There'll be lots of opportunities for us to share time with Nev and the others!"

Luna smiled wanly and nodded. But her expression did brighten briefly in anticipation as they approached the entrance to the Great Hall...

Her shoulders slumped. "I don't see him."

"It's early yet," said Hermione. "He'll be along."

But twenty minutes later, Neville still hadn't showed.

"I'll ask," said Harry, pushing away the remnants of his toast and rising to his feet.

He walked across to the Gryffindor table and began questioning anyone who'd listen, but without success. _Never stop!_ He looked to the staff tables. McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor. She'd know.

"Potter, tend to your own affairs," she rebuked him. "It's likely that Longbottom has simply overslept."

"He never–"

"–Sit down, Potter!"

"It's important!"

"Your lessons are important, Potter, now finish your breakfast or you'll be late for your first class. Timetables will be handed out shortly."

Harry frowned and turned to look at the Headmaster. _Never stop!_ "Sir, who would know where Neville Longbottom–"

"–Potter! What did I just tell you!" McGonagall said sternly. In fact most of the faculty were glaring at Harry's interruption of their meal. But one in particular had shown a flicker of recognition on the end table.

"Sorry again, Professor McGonagall, but who is the lady on the far side?"

"That's Madam Pince, our librarian. Now will you please go and sit down and finish your breakfast!"

_Never stop_ asking for help! Harry took the long way round in order to pass where Pince was seated. He opened his mouth but didn't need to say anything:

"I shooed Longbottom out of the library half an hour ago," said Madam Pince.

_Never stop asking!_ "Was he alright? How long was he there? What was he reading?"

"How should I remember every– _humph!_ He borrowed the Hogwarts Rules and Guidelines if you must know – which you would do well to study yourself, young man!"

"Thank you. Did he say anything? Did he look upset? Do you know why he was–"

"–NO!"

"Mr Potter!" called McGonagall. "This is my final warning! Take your seat at the Ravenclaw table right now!"

_Never stop!_ "But don't you think friends come first, Professor? If you believe a friend might be in trouble? What should I do? Forget about him and try to eat? I've lost my appetite anyway. Isn't it best to do the right thing no matter what the consequence?"

"The consequence will be detention if you don't sit down right this minute!"

_Never stop!_ "Just one more question then, Professor, if you please. How would you feel if Neville died during this minute?"

McGonagall was on her feet, fuming with anger. Only the Headmaster's whispered aside brought her under control. "We are informed by a house-elf that Mr Longbottom is still safe and sound reading a book in his dormitory." She sighed. "Your timetables are now being handed out, Potter. I suggest you look to see when your classes are shared with Gryffindor and there you will find your missing friend."

Harry frowned, but he could see Professor Flitwick giving Hermione and Luna their schedules so he headed towards them.

"Thanks for trying, anyway, Harry," smiled Luna.

"Trying?" growled Harry. "I haven't even started yet."

"Charms!" cried Hermione, handing Harry his timetable. "We'll see Neville in Charms class right after Potions."

Harry nodded. "It's not like Neville to mope – not when he could have been here with us and Luna. If he's not in Charms class then I'm going to search for him."

"I'll come with you," Luna said firmly.

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The Insult

Hannah, Justin, Megan, and Dean joined them for Potions class with Professor Snape. Everything began smoothly enough. Harry answered a few easy questions then they began mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. Harry pulled a face. The instructions seemed incomplete and ambiguous compared to his mother's precise tuition.

_Never stop._ "Excuse me, Professor, do we measure the nettles before we dry them or after?" said Harry.

"Afterwards of course! My instructions on the blackboard precisely state three level measures of _dry_ nettles. One point from Ravenclaw. Clearly not all of that House are as smart as others."

"What measure of nettles should we dry, sir?"

"Enough to produce sufficient dry nettles."

"What is the average proportional volume of moisture in each nettle?"

Snape sighed. "Potter, just scoop three _heaped_ measures of nettles. Once you've dried them they will then comfortably fill three level measures – but do NOT compress them while doing so!"

"Thank you, sir. So we want three _heaped_ measures of ordinary nettles?"

"That's what I said! Potter, you should be crushing your snake fangs first! Can't you read?"

"Would it not be more efficient to have the nettles drying while we crush the fangs, sir? And how many fangs are needed to produce four measures of powdered fangs? And how finely should they be crushed?"

"No! Six! Very!"

"Why is it less effic–"

"–Because the powder needs to settle in the agitator while the nettles are drying. Just follow my instructions, Potter!"

"Thank you, sir."

During all this time, Hermione, Luna, and the Hufflepuffs were vigorously scribbling notes which they exchanged and compared with each other.

"Granger! Five points from Ravenclaw for cheating!"

"Shouldn't we be comparing notes, sir?" said Hermione.

"Not _all_ of you! You work in pairs!"

"But don't you think the instructions are open to different interpretations? Surely our results will be more consistent and reliable if we all fully understand what we're doing?"

"That's cheating, Granger!"

"Understanding what we're doing is cheating?"

"Telling students the answers is cheating!"

"What if they don't know the answers because they've misunderstood or become confused, or forget one of the steps?"

"That's the whole point! They are supposed to have learnt from my instructions!"

"Isn't learning _itself_ the point? And won't more of us learn if we share information and support one another?"

"Copying is cheating! FIVE points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. No more disruptions, Granger!"

"Sir?" said Harry.

"What is it now, Potter?"

"Can the rules be changed so we can help each other?"

"NO! Get on with your work!"

"Is there some higher authority we can appeal to?"

"NO! I AM the authority here. Do as you are told! TEN points from Ravenclaw! No more interruptions or you will face detention!"

"Why, sir?"

"Because I SAY so!"

"Isn't that unfair, sir? To give out a detention without good reason?"

"DETENTION, Potter! Tonight at six!"

"Might that be changed to tomorrow night, sir? So I have time to get permission from my mother?"

Snape staggered back a step, almost tripping over his cloak. "What did you say?"

"I need to owl my mother, sir."

There was a long pause during which Snape had stopped breathing. When the teacher spoke again, every word dripped out like the venom from a hungry snake's fangs. "Your ... mother ... is ... dead, Potter! As you very well–"

"–WHAT!" Harry had jumped to his feet then a moment later sank back down again with relief showing on his face. "I assume you mean my natural mother, Lily Potter?"

Snape's face darkened dangerously. "That Fuller woman adopted you?"

Harry was on his feet again amidst gasps from all his friends. "Would you apologise please, sir?"

"Sit down, Potter!"

"Not until you apologise for that slur on my mother's name, sir. Otherwise I shall be taking advice on forcing an apology.

"A WEEK of detentions, Potter! How dare you–"

"–May I give you this one last opportunity to apologise, sir? Otherwise it may not go well for you."

"You DARE to threaten me, Potter?"

"No, sir, I'm trying to help you. We can settle this here or before a tribunal. Insulting a student's parent would not be acceptable to the School's Board of Governors."

"OUT!" screamed Snape. "Get out of my class!"

As Harry gathered up his things and headed to the door, half the students rose and walked away with him.

Snape stared after them in disbelief, for once, speechless.

.

Caught Red-handed

"I am most disappointed, Harry." The Headmaster gazed around his crowded office at the determined faces staring back at him.

"Sir? You support the bullying and insulting of students?" said Harry, gesturing sideways at Snape who was glowering at him.

"Discipline must be maintained at Hogwarts else–"

–_Never stop!_ "So you permit children to be intimidated, sir?"

"You should not question the authority of–"

–_Never stop!_ "It's important that I know if you support Professor Snape, Headmaster."

Dumbledore frowned. "You intend to pursue this further?"

"I shall take my mother's advice. I will gather what evidence I can in case it is needed. Your lack of denial to my question is noted, Headmaster, and may be taken as a confirmation that you support Professor Snape's insulting and bullying behaviour."

"You cannot expect to change the way things are done at Hogwarts, Harry."

"Then I shall walk away."

"And the rest of you?" said Dumbledore.

"I'm with Harry," said Hermione. "We all are. If he walks away, then so shall we. We are used to much higher standards of education. The Potions lesson was absurdly inefficient."

Snape practically exploded with rage. "HOW DARE Y–!"

"–HEADMASTER!" McGonagall was at the door with one hand gripping the arm of Neville Longbottom. She glanced back and forth, startled to find the room already fully occupied. "I'm so sorry to intrude, Albus, but a crime has been committed and I felt you should be informed immediately."

Dumbledore's sigh was lost amidst the tumult of gasps and cries. Then... "You children leave me for now and we shall discuss this situation later."

"But..." said Harry, his eyes now fixed on Neville's miserable countenance.

"Out, please, all of you."

As the students filed past the newcomers, whispers of encouragement were heard.

"He couldn't have, Professor!" cried Harry. "Whatever someone's said, Neville would never do anything illegal!"

"OUT, Potter!" said McGonagall. "And – not that it's any of your business – Longbottom was caught with his hand in the travel chest of Ronald Weasley. A valuable artifact has been stolen!"

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—oOo—

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* * *

**Author's Notes**

_Just to clarify, while Harry will always walk away from trouble that shouldn't concern him, he'll never desert a friend. _

_In other news... I've got Chapter 5 almost ready for Broken Utterly which I hope to post next week. Meanwhile, Chance of a Lifetime is simmering away at the back of my mind. I know broadly what's going to happen but to write it well will take more time. _

_Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

**– Hippothestrowl**

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	6. The Boy Who Gived

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_So far... On his seventh birthday, Harry Potter was inspired to never stop asking for help. He learned about magic early and, adopted by Mercy Fuller, launched a junior academy, mainly for Muggle-raised children aged seven to ten. Strong bonds of friendship were formed, but, on starting Hogwarts, they soon faced separation and expulsion, with Neville alone in Gryffindor and accused of theft, and the others having walked away from Snape's Potions lesson. Read on... _

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**Chapter 6**

**The Boy Who Gived**

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Bad Riddance

"So it's true – Dumbledore's kicked him out!"

A host of chattering Ravenclaw students, among them, Harry Potter, gazed from Ravenclaw Tower as Neville Longbottom trudged out of the castle and began the long walk to the great gate. Through the distant bars of wrought iron, Harry could just about discern the formidable figure of Madam Longbottom waiting for her grandson. The afternoon was bright and clear, but her expression was... harder to distinguish.

"He's in for it now," said Hermione, pressing forward at Harry's side to see better.

"No," said Luna, appearing from nowhere at Harry's other elbow.

He twisted around to peruse the airy blue chamber behind him, and listen to the hubbub of chatter. Every window on their side of the circular room was crowded with students watching the drama unfold, expecting to see at least a severe scolding, or perhaps even an ear-boxing. It wasn't every day one got to witness firsthand an expulsion from Hogwarts.

"Why not, Luna?" said Harry, swivelling back to gesture out the window. "Madam Longbottom can be quite severe – look, she's folding her arms."

"That's pride. After all he's achieved at the Academy, his gran trusts him as much as we do," she said. "Madam Longbottom knows he wouldn't steal on purpose. Either he found the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw – or a Wrackspurt found _him_."

"The what?" said Hermione, craning over Harry's shoulder to gauge Luna's expression.

"A Wrackspurt. They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy."

"No, the diadem," pouted Hermione, annoyed that Luna might know something about one of the Founders that she herself didn't. "I don't recall reading about it in _Hogwarts: A Hist_–"

"–Rowena Ravenclaw's statue over there, remember?" said Luna, gesturing to the white marble figure in a niche opposite the entrance to their common room. "See the little coronet on her head? The real one gives wisdom to the wearer. Perhaps Neville hoped to use it to get into Ravenclaw. Yes, that must be it! Professor McGonagall said it was a valuable artifact. Neville was trying to borrow it from Ron's travel trunk!"

Harry snorted disdainfully. "From what I've seen of him, Ron Weasley doesn't strike me as having gained much wisdom from a magic crown, Luna. Look where he ended up – in ruddy Gryffindor!"

Their attention reverted to Neville as he neared the gate, and Luna nodded sadly. "Perhaps you're right. I was hoping he'd–"

–They couldn't hear from that distance, but each imagined the sound of the heavy gates creaking as they slowly swung open...

Gasps! Cries! The Common Room came alive with noise.

"She's... hugging him?" croaked Harry. "Neville's grandmother has her arms round him?"

"Told you she'd be proud!" smiled Luna. "She must know, you see."

"Know what...?" Hermione struggled to puzzle it out. Yet there was another surprise...

"Is that your...!" she gasped, as two other figures Apparated soundlessly into view beside Madam Longbottom – a moment later the distant _snap_ of sound reached their ears. "Harry, it's your mother!"

"Mum? Here?" His wand whipped up to cast a cleansing charm on his spectacles, and he pushed them further up his nose to focus hard.

Yet something even more astounding happened...

"I don't believe it!" Hermione squeaked.

"The Longbottoms are coming back to the castle with them!" cried many.

Harry's eyes widened along with everyone else's. "Luna, how did you... did you know? Do you know what's happening?"

"I know that Neville received a message from his gran early this morning."

"What! You mean before... before..."

"Before breakfast."

"How? Why didn't you say?"

"He asked me not to."

Harry and Hermione stared dumbfounded at each other then at Luna.

"He planned this?" said Harry, keeping his voice low, as glances and mutters from other students came buzzing their way. '_What's he say?_' ... '_what's going on?_' ... '_why'd they...?_'

"I think so. I went to owl Daddy to remind him not to forget the blue sky-rose for Mummy's grave now I'm at Hogwarts. Neville was coming down from the owlery reading a–"

"–But Madam Pince said he was in the library before breakfast" hissed Harry. "She said he'd been reading Hogwarts rules."

"This was earlier. Perhaps his gran had advised him to see if there was–"

"–Why didn't you let us know when–!"

"–He said not to mention anyth–"

"–But..."

Hermione was leaning dangerously out of the open window now, looking downwards. "They're coming inside. I can't believe even Madam Longbottom will be able to change Professor Dumbledore's mind."

Despite the grim situation, Hermione giggled as Harry anxiously grabbed her round the waist for fear she'd topple out. She squirmed sideways, stumbling back into his arms, then pushed him away laughing nervously. "That tickles!"

"Sorry ... you were... I was scared you'd..."

She turned away, pink-faced, and became very interested suddenly in shuffling papers on the table next to the window.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione," said Harry.

"_s'alright..._" Her voice was almost inaudible.

Harry gnawed worriedly at his lower lip. His early life and Mercy's gentle guidance had made him sensitive to others' feelings even when he wasn't always sure of the reasons for them. He opened his mouth to say, "I'll try to–"

"–Harry!" piped up a young, dark-complexioned girl who had just entered the room, and was holding the door open. "Headmaster wants to see you. All three of you actually!"

"Right now?" Harry dragged himself reluctantly over, followed by Luna. He looked closely at the messenger's expression. "You're Parvati, yeah? Did he say–?"

"–Padma. I'm Padma. My sister's Parvati – but she's in Gryffindor."

"_Padma_ – right. Did uumm... did Dumbl–?"

"–He only told me he wanted to see you three immediately."

"Mercy's owl flew past, Harry!" cried Hermione, flinging an arm back to point at the window behind her as she ran after her two friends. "She must have Apparated it along with her for quickness!"

Harry's eyes widened. "You two go to the Head's office – I'll run to the owlery then catch up with you."

"You can't! The Headmaster'll–"

"–I'm not going without seeing what Mum's got to say!" Harry's shout echoed back from halfway down the steps, over which he was recklessly leaping two at a time.

As Luna and Hermione scurried out after him, someone back in the common room shouted, "Windows, everyone! We might see a dozen expulsions in one day if we're lucky!"

.

The Irreversible Expulsion

Neville Longbottom wasn't trudging anymore – he was stepping out briskly. Accompanied by his Grandmother, by Mercy, and by a man from Harry's lawyers to support him, he was greatly encouraged that his plan would work. Nevertheless, he was _slightly_ nervous as they ascended the marble staircase, heading towards the Headmaster's office.

"Excuse me a moment only," said Mercy, as she turned off their intended route, with Harry's legal adviser following her.

The Longbottoms paused. Neville's mouth firmed as he watched Mercy and the lawyer become engrossed in conversation with her son, Harry – the boy's chest was heaving as if he'd been running. Beyond them he could see Hannah, Justin, and Dean heading to join them. From another direction, the distant and slower figures of... "Luna! Hermione!" Neville waved excitedly.

"Come along, Neville, none of our business," said his grandmother. "We'll walk slowly and Professor Fuller might catch us up."

Without the additional support, Neville's confidence faltered, but the journey to the Headmaster's office could not be delayed forever...

The moment came.

"Enter."

"YOU!" Ron Weasley was standing near Dumbledore's desk. "You should be gone, you thievin' scum!"

"Relax, Mr Weasley; Madam Longbottom has requested an audience, which is why, as the injured party, I felt you had the right to be here too. ... Madam, perhaps you would be good enough to explain your visit? However, I must caution you that nothing you can say will change anything: your grandson has already been expelled and that cannot be undone even if I wished it."

"Thank you, Headmaster, and yes, both my grandson and I accept the expulsion," said Augusta Longbottom. She paused for a few moments to increase anticipation, then her chest swelled with dignity. "I'm here to enrol the son of my son, Neville Longbottom, at Hogwarts, in accordance with Founders Article 1!"

.

The Compromise

Paul Dither perused his notes one last time before stuffing them away in his briefcase. "Children, you are now at an important turning point in your lives from which there may be no return. Can you confirm once more that you and your parents are all agreed to persist until the end no matter what?"

"WE ARE!" chorused seven children in unison, their voices echoing down the stone corridors of Hogwarts castle.

"And if you reach that end without success?"

"WE WALK AWAY!"

Dither nodded at Mercy Fuller. "Then let us begin..."

Their ascension up the spiral steps to the Headmaster's office was resolute. Their footsteps faltered only when Ron Weasley, dashing down from above, passed them, his excited face pink and jubilant, hurriedly followed by a frowning Professor McGonagall. Neville also emerged through the open doorway above, but his face was grey with bitter disappointment.

Harry's spirits sank as low as any of them. He was no longer able to marshal his thoughts together on the coming encounter with Dumbledore. He watched in silence as Neville passed them with his grandmother. Hannah opened her mouth as if to speak, but Justin nudged her, and she slumped in resignation. It was Luna who finally voiced positive thoughts:

"_We're_ not giving in, Neville, and neither should you!"

She'd meant it kindly, but Neville's footsteps barely slowed, and his reply had faded away down and around the spiral stairs. "_Too late. ... I'm still in Gryff..._."

"What's he say?" Dean muttered in confusion to the others.

In vain, Hermione called down the stairs after the receding figure of their friend. "What's happened, Neville? Aren't you expelled?"

Luna sighed. "Whatever he'd planned, it must have failed."

"Will you children please enter?" called Dumbledore from above.

Mercy said, "Come along, Harry ... everyone, or we'll–"

"–What's going on, Luna?" cried Harry. "Is he–"

"–can't you see? He must have hoped to get reSorted but–"

"–Hurry please, children!" called the Headmaster, a little more impatiently.

Harry, Hermione, and Luna hissed back and forth under their breaths as they continued up the last few steps. "_you mean he deliberately–?" – "must have somehow proved he–" – "–can't believe that Neville–" – "–told you he'd done nothing wrong!"_

The buzzing exchanges ceased the moment they passed the threshold into the Headmaster's office – for there stood Professor Snape, arms folded and a confident smirk on his ungenerous lips.

If others quailed, Harry Potter did not. "Headmaster, is Neville still at Hogwarts?"

Snape glared. "None of your–"

"–Your friend is exonerated," smiled Dumbledore, cutting Snape off with a wave. "Mr Longbottom had simply pushed a precious possession – a Chudley Cannons badge of rare material, I believe – to the bottom of Mr Weasley's travel chest where it would be safer. Mr Weasley hadn't been aware that it was far more valuable than he knew."

"But why didn't Neville say before!" cried Hannah and Hermione, practically together.

"Ah, the poor boy was under the false impression that, because the Hogwarts Rulebook states that all new students must be Sorted, he would be Sorted again if he re-enrolled."

"Wit beyond measure!" cried Luna. "He's shown the Hat that he deserves to be in Ravenclaw!"

"Alas! I cannot change the rules, Miss Lovegood. A student can only be Sorted once, so young master Longbottom will forever be a Gryffindor." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled as if he was enjoying some kind of game. "Now to more important matt–"

–Harry raised his voice above Dumbledore's."Rules can be changed, Headmaster."

"Stop this please, Harry. What's done is done."

Mercy cut in, "He'll never stop, Albus. Believe me, I know."

"Then let him continue on his own time; I have much–"

"–Sorry, Professor, but this IS my time," said Harry, "as much as anyone else's. How can we help Neville? How can he be reSorted? If your life depended upon it then you'd find a way."

"Harry, listen to me," Dumbledore said gravely, "some things in life we can never have, no matter how much we wish it. It does not do to dwell on–"

"–True, but Neville DESERVES to be Sorted correctly. MAGIC itself is outraged – can't you feel it?"

The other children uttered their agreement, with Luna piping up loudest.

"You children _feel_ magic? At your age? Remarkable. However..." Dumbledore sighed. "We must discuss Mr Longbottom at some future time if you all wish to use the remaining minutes of this meeting to put your case on the matter of your own expulsions."

Mercy nodded her agreement to Harry, and he fell silent. Hermione put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Now," continued Dumbledore in a tone of relief, "your mother and I have met before, but–"

"–Job application – rejected as I recall," yawned Snape.

Ignoring the slight, Mercy introduced Paul Dither as the senior partner of the law firm commissioned by Harry.

"Let's get right to it, Dumbledore," snapped Dither. "Either Snape apologises to my client AND his mother AND drastically improves his teaching method and attitude, or we shall apply for–"

"–NEVER!" cried Snape.

"You refuse to improve your low teaching standards?"

"Don't twist my words around Dither – you're not in court now," snarled the professor.

"Not yet..." Dither's tone was as menacing as Snape's. "Without your compliance to our terms, we shall apply in the first instance for a hearing before the School Board. If we are not satisfied with the result of their judgement, we shall appeal to the Wizengamot and even to the International Confederation of Wizards to decide the matter. The news media will be kept fully informed as to what is happening here at Hogwarts. At the very least, a very bright wandlight will be shone on the quality of some of the teaching staff."

"You'd go that far?" frowned Dumbledore.

Mercy said, "Harry will find a way to go further, if I know my son. He'll never stop asking for help. A scoundrel abandoned him to great danger and abuse when quite young, and his determination is a result of that injustice he was denied so utterly."

Dumbledore averted his gaze. _Does she know...?_ "You put me in an impossible position," he said. "I cannot–"

"–Why do you cling to this miserable excuse for a teacher, Dumbledore?" said Dither. "What reason have you for employing a failure?"

Snape gnashed his growing frustration but Dumbledore cut him off. "Qualified staff are hard to find. Professor Snape is a master potioneer who–"

"–who cannot teach effectively, fairly, or even courteously," cried Mercy.

"And you think you could do better?" sneered the man in question.

"Certainly – but I have an academy with over forty students to manage. I do have an assistant now, but she cannot run the school full time. Otherwise, I'd easily exceed your wasted hours in a few minutes of quality teaching."

"Then may I suggest a compromise, Madam Fuller?" said Dumbledore, relieved to find a possible way out. "I will offer you the position of Hogwarts Potions Professor in respect of your son's class only – just two lessons a week that–"

"–throw in the apology, and we have a deal," cut in Dither.

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Do you not wish to discuss the offer with your client?"

Paul Dither and Mercy exchanged smiles before he replied, "No need. We anticipated every possibility."

The Headmaster stared. Not since he'd been pranked as a first-year had he been played like a fish so skilfully. Grudgingly, he growled, "Very well. ... Severus...?"

Snape glared. "You expect me to–"

"–It would be gracious of you, yes."

"And I'd be rid of Potter for good? No more disruptions?"

Harry flared up. "You're the one who caused the–"

"–Harry, Please!" cried his mother.

"Sorry, Mum."

"Oh, very well," glowered Snape, then turned to mumble at the wall, "_I apologise to Potter and Madam Fuller._"

"Is that all?" said Dither, blinking in astonishment.

"Will that suffice?" Dumbledore said hopefully.

"We accept," said Mercy, "but we'll be monitoring the situation very closely to see if–"

–The door burst open and McGonagall rushed in. "Albus! There's no – oh, sorry. Can I have a quick word, Headmaster?"

"Yes, of course, what is it?" Dumbledore was rising out of his seat in alarm.

The Headmaster and his deputy whispered together for a few moments. Harry gaped. Hermione clutched his arm. Luna had scurried to the door where Neville stood nervously biting his lip. They exchanged quizzical gestures and shrugs, then–

"–PERRICK!" barked Dumbledore – rather gruffly, Harry thought.

An elderly house-elf appeared trembling to see his master's dark expression. "Sir, Master Dumbledore, sir?"

"Where is Neville Longbottom's bed?" demanded the Headmaster.

"Is furnishings of Hogwarts castle, Master Dumbledore, sir. Hogwarts magic is always placing students beds after Sorting, sir."

"Then where is it now?"

"Is not, sir. Hogwarts removed bed when master Neville was expelled. Master Neville is not being a Hogwarts student now."

"Then what is...?" Dumbledore sighed. He knew when he was beaten. "Minerva, we have a new student. If you'd be so kind," he said, gesturing back over his shoulder.

Harry looked at the walls behind the desk. A glass case held a magnificent silver sword, with large rubies set into the hilt, and Harry wondered whose it was. Next to it, the patched and ragged Sorting Hat was standing on a shelf with McGonagall approaching. Light dawned!

"GO, Neville! NEVER STOP believing!"

Once placed on Neville's head, it was but a matter of seconds before the Sorting Hat grudgingly but firmly declared, "RAVENCLAW!"

Only Harry was applauding. He turned excitedly to the others, clapping and pointing again and again to Neville who was grinning from ear to ear. The entire gathering was staring as if transfixed, but it was several moments before he realised they were not looking at Neville; they were gazing in awe at Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the boy who would never stop. Ever.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

**Author's Notes**

_Some interesting comments from SomeGuyFawkes in a Ch.1 review: (A) Dumbledore would not let Harry get away from the Dursleys – likely he didn't know until it was too late. Once Harry no longer called 4 Privet Drive his home, the blood protection was broken, and even Dumbledore couldn't find him behind the Fidelius for quite a while. _

_(B) Dumbledore's kept Harry safe from the ministry. Mercy would lose custody – in this fic the adoption department never leaked the confidential info so nobody knew. Even if realised, laws (in this fic) are quite strict about separating a child from its mother, adopted or otherwise. _

_(C+D) Prophecy – Scar – Horcruxes – Voldemort's success or failure – all irrelevant to Harry, as they were in the original Walk Away. Not his problem. He'll hide behind the unbreakable Fidelius if need be - and offer that same protection to his friends. Or find some other way to avoid Voldemort. And he'll NEVER stop walking away. He simply will not play Dumbledore's game. Let Dumbledore find another hero if he can't be bothered to sort out the mess himself. _

_Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

**– Hippothestrowl**

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	7. Death At Hogwarts!

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_So far... On his seventh birthday, Harry Potter was inspired to never stop asking for help. He learned about magic early and, adopted by Mercy Fuller, launched a junior academy, mainly for Muggle-raised children aged seven to ten. Strong bonds of friendship were formed, which, on starting Hogwarts, helped them avoid expulsion, and pressured Dumbledore into hiring Mercy as Potions teacher in Harry's classes. Now read on... _

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**Chapter 7**

**Death At Hogwarts!**

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Comfortable Weeks

With Snape no longer teaching them, the next week or two passed smoothly for Harry and his friends. In addition, Padma and another Ravenclaw called Mandy Brocklehurst, who both dormed with Hermione and Luna, were delighted with Mercy Fuller's Potions class – as were Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Anthony Goldstein. The Hufflepuff first years who shared the class were also thrilled at the vast improvement. Harry had become remarkably popular overnight.

One fly in the ointment was that Ron Weasley would regularly glare and sneer across the Great Hall at Neville during meals, sniggering loudly at whatever he was saying to Seamus and Derek – the only other Gryffindor boys in his year.

"He still thinks I should have been expelled," growled Neville. "Even though I made him realise his Chudley badge is worth over fifty Galleons – just for the material."

"Crikey," yelped Harry, half-choking on a second helping of treacle tart, "he could buy the team for that."

Their laughter evoked another dark scowl from Ron. Neville shook his head, wishing Weasley would just let it go.

Luna patted the back of his hand. "Don't think too badly of him, Neville. Seamus is really Derek's friend; poor Ron has nobody."

"I wonder why?" sniggered Harry under his breath.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. The turbaned professor smelt of garlic and stuttered nervously. Nobody took him seriously and some even asked Harry if his mother could take over Defence classes as well as Potions. Harry smiled and shook his head. "I wish..." What could he do? All the ex-Academy members were already a year or two ahead in many aspects of Defensive spells. He wondered if they might find somewhere to practice together for fun.

But generally Harry was content to go along with the status quo rather than stir things up. There was a relaxed atmosphere about many of the classes – almost to the point of falling asleep in History! It was a pleasant time, an enjoyable period of their lives which passed happily by as summer slumbered further into autumn, and sleepily pulled a blanket of leaves over itself to keep warm.

Only one curious incident caused a tiny ripple on the peaceful surface of school life in their first month. A young, blond-haired Slytherin had tried to annoy Harry in the passageways but without success. He'd demanded a wand duel, but Harry just laughed and walked away.

Harry, Luna, and Neville arranged a low-key celebration for Hermione's twelfth birthday; Harry having gifted her a box of magic puzzles to exercise her mind and spell-casting. To be honest, he wasn't sure if they were even solvable, but if anyone could, it would be her.

Towards the end of September, many were looking forward to the first flying lesson – Harry mainly because thereafter he would have access to the brooms, and allowed to fly in his spare time under the guise of 'flying practice'. He'd already mastered the art of course, as had all former members of the Fuller Academy.

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The Flying Lesson

Hermione Granger smiled at Luna as they sedately performed their twentieth figure-of-eight almost thirty feet above the ground. Professor Mercy Fuller had expertly taught them this amongst many other life skills, acclimatising them gradually until they were as relaxed when flying a broomstick as lounging in a comfy chair. Just below were Megan, Hannah, and the other Hufflepuffs performing just as well. Up above, of course, Neville and Harry were racing – Harry finally throw-catching a tennis ball to handicap himself plus the occasional exuberant spiral. He was still laps ahead by the look of the silly grin on his face. She sighed and rolled her eyes. Boys! But deep down, she couldn't help but admire his skill and daring.

Madam Hooch's whistle signalled the end of the lesson. "HARRY POTTER!" She looked rather fierce and summoned the tennis ball, snatching it out of the air once it was within range.

Hermione gripped her broom more tightly and swiftly descended before Harry. "He flies perfectly safely, Professor – Harry just loves the freedom of–"

"–Quiet, Granger! Potter, follow me – NOW!" said Hooch, her eyes smouldering. "The rest of you – class dismissed."

With a puzzled look back at Hermione, Harry trotted after Hooch into the castle, along several corridors, then up to the seventh floor in the west tower before stopping outside an oak door. Harry groaned as he recognised – by the Ravenclaw emblem – whose it was. Now he was in real trouble! Hooch knocked, opened it, then poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Filius, but you remember asking me a couple of years ago that if I came across any especially talented–"

"–A flier!" squeaked Professor Flitwick throwing down the quill he'd been using. "Come in, come in!"

"Not just any flier, Filius – I've found you a Seeker."

Harry cried, "Now, hang on a min–"

–But Hooch had dragged Harry in with her. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

"No, I've flown for years, but–"

"–Good. He caught this strange thing during a reverse spin!" Madam Hooch held up the tennis ball. "Charlie Weasley couldn't have done better – if at all."

Flitwick was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once. "Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Of course, but–"

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Hooch, squeezing his upper arm as if testing the ripeness of a dirigible plum. "Light – sturdy – we'll have to get him a decent broom, Filius – a Nimbus Two–"

"–I already have one back home but–"

Flitwick was jumping up and down with glee. "I shall speak to the Headmaster and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..."

He peered sternly at Harry. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter." Then he smiled. "Your father would have been proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

"Yes, I know," said Harry, annoyance creeping into his voice. "I'll give your offer due consideration after I've discussed it with my mother. I love flying, but personally, I think Quidditch is far too dangerous."

Flitwick's mouth fell open in shock. He stared after the departing boy, too paralysed by disbelief to even think. _What did he say...?_ Just outside of his eyeline, he heard Hooch stagger against his desk and hit the floor in a near-swoon.

Harry Potter had walked away.

.

An Eery Voice

Patiently, Hermione guided Terry Boot's arm as he attempted to levitate a feather in Charms class. "Your swish is quite good but the flick doesn't have enough snap," she gently explained. "Also, your pronunciation is slightly off, causing the feather to skid away."

Terry frowned with impatience. "Show me again."

Hermione smiled and raised her wand. "Win–_gar_–dium Levio–_saah!"_

"So it's _saah_ not _sa?"_ – aah!" said Terry, and with more eagerness, tried again. He grinned as his feather finally danced into the air at his command.

To Flitwick's delight, all of the Ravenclaws had now succeeded with the spell. Not so the Gryffindors, who were sharing the class. Lavender Brown had to escort Seamus to the hospital wing because Ron Weasley had accidentally jabbed him in the eye with his wand tip. Ron was given detention under the supervision of Filch the caretaker, scrubbing stinky toilets for the rest of the afternoon.

Meanwhile, Harry was attempting precision control of the levitation spell on his quill to tickle Luna's nose. They'd been practising third-year charms in their spare time, and first-year lessons were becoming rather boring unless he pushed them to the utmost.

They had a free hour after Charms before dinner so Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Luna found a spare classroom to work on their cheering charms. Only Hermione had succeeded before this. She cautioned them all, "Now listen, don't use this charm to intoxicate yourselves because it's said to become addictive. It's true purpose is to overcome depression, to lift your spirits when you're down. Remember that."

It was an advanced spell for first-years to try, and they finished up more dejected than they started after failing repeatedly. Luna managed a giggle and a sneeze, but Neville said it was probably a bit of Harry's quill left up her nose.

"Don't worry, you'll get there," said Hermione, and cast the charm lightly upon them all.

So it was an upbeat group that headed to dinner that evening. But perhaps they were too relaxed, for when screams were heard from the Great Hall, they were slow to react.

Neville was first through the door. He stopped on the threshold and grinned back at the others as they joined him.

Halloween was being celebrated. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. Girls were shrieking and trying to shoo the little creatures away from their hair. Harry swore he saw the blond Slytherin boy hiding under the table.

As they sat down, food appeared on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet. Harry half-turned his blue ring for a little protection, and he and Hermione also cast weak shield charms over their friends to keep out the bat droppings – then they all tucked in.

Harry was just helping himself to a jacket potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped, "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

All was chaos. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins milled about in confusion because their dorms were down in the lower levels in and near the dungeons. However, the Ravenclaw prefects seemed to have their students well controlled, leading them quickly out through the noisy crowd towards the Ravenclaw Tower stairs.

But Neville had hung back, frowning. "HARRY," he cried loudly to be heard above the shouts and pounding of feet, "did you see Ron Weasley at the feast? I noticed he wasn't anywhere at the Gryffindor table scowling at me. What if he's still scrubbing toilets with Filch?"

Harry stopped in mid-stride, trying to think quickly. Robert Hilliard, the Ravenclaw prefect bringing up the rear, was urging them onwards. "Get along now, KEEP MOVING YOU TWO!"

_Never stop asking for help and never stop offering it..._

"Excuse me, but Ron Weasley's missing. We think he might be–"

"–EDGECOMBE!" cried the distracted Hilliard. "WHAT ARE YOU – what were you saying, Pott– oh, HELLO, Cho! No worries. Stick with me and I'll see you safely up the tower – no, it's no trouble. Hang on to my arm and keep close so I can protect you more easily..."

Harry stared open-mouthed at the lovely girl, guessing from her figure she must be thirteen at least, then shook his head to focus, growling, "Hilliard's practically drooling over her – look where he's got his hand round her hips! He won't remember what day it is, let alone Ron Weasley..." _never stop!_ "OY!" Harry called, just before the prefect disappeared into the sea of students, but to no avail. _never stop!_ "HEY!"

He shrugged at Neville then looked back through the doorway. The Great Hall had almost emptied except for a few Slytherins and their final prefect who glanced back from the side door and stared at Harry for a few seconds. Dumbledore and the rest of the Hogwarts staff had all presumably hurried out to find the troll. Quirrell was still face down on the floor. "Useless..." muttered Harry.

"You follow the Ravenclaws up, Harry," yelled Neville over his shoulder. I'll run after the Gryffindors and get a different prefect. I think Ron's brother is one." He was sprinting away before Harry could protest.

Then, in that moment of complete aloneness, Harry froze. His silver _riskless_ – the adornment he'd bought all those years ago in the Curiosa and Curiosa shop – was twitching _very_ strongly on his wrist, alerting him to serious danger. A silence was falling as the bulk of the students were hurrying away out of earshot and with no other distractions, his entire attention focused on his mother's advice in situations of unknown danger: RUN! But a high cold voice pierced the air, "Harry... Potter... we meet... again."

Harry whirled around. Quirrell had struggled to his knees, still facing away from Harry – but there'd been no stutter, so who had spoken?

And there it was again... "Take him... while we may..."

Quirrell turned and began to advance towards Harry with a quite new expression on his face: menace! "Potter! Come here!"

"POTTER!" Snape had entered from the side door at that same moment. "Breaking the rules again as usual! Why aren't you with the other Ravenclaws! That'll be ten p–"

"–Ex–ssactly wh–what I was g–going to ask!" simpered Quirrell.

Snape's head turned. He'd clearly only just noticed Quirrell was still there.

"There's a missing Gryffindor, sir!" cried Harry. "Ron Weasley was serving detention with Mister Filch, sir, and–"

–A blood-curdling howl came from the main entrance behind Harry; he spun around in time to glimpse a cat streaking down the marble stairs. "It's Mrs Norris! They must be–"

"–Leave this to me, Potter!" snarled Snape, sweeping past Harry. "Which direction?"

"Up there sir! First floor! They were cleaning bathrooms!"

A bloody chunk the size of a football came hurtling down to crack and roll like a coconut along the stone slabs of the Entrance Hall. For a few seconds, Harry could not make out what it was. Then bile rose up from his stomach as he recognised the familiar face on one side staring blankly at him.

Snape spat back at Quirrell, "Keep students away from this hall, Quirrell! Potter – follow me. Keep close but do not attempt to interfere – and stay behind me!"

Harry was wiping sick off his mouth, and felt too giddy to object. "Yes, sir," he said meekly.

Then realisation struck him. "NEVILLE!"

"Keep behind me, Potter, I said!" cried Snape, rushing up the stairs with Harry trying to pass him.

"Neville went up there only a minute ago, Professor! He was going to warn the Gryffindors!"

"_Bombarda!"_ There was a mighty explosion from above and they ducked as a heavy door came spinning over them, instantly followed by a rush of hot air and a foul stench like a bog full of rotten meat and diarrhoea.

Despite Snape's order, Harry reached the landing first. Sprawled out was the huge troll, its guts split open and last Sunday's near-digested dinner spilling out, bones and all. On its face was a vacant expression of utter astonishment. Neville was gripping desperately to the balustrade, shaking and waving his wand defensively.

"Don't worry, Neville," said Harry. "I don't think it's going to get up again." His foot bumped against what appeared to be a cracked saucer, and he bent down to pick it up.

"Longbottom!" roared Snape. "What do you think you're doing with a fourth-year spell! And don't you know that trolls are magically-resistant?"

Harry tapped the saucer; it was as hard as iron.

"Didn't think, sir..." squeaked Neville. "I missed anyway and hit the door. It was the door ripping past the troll's stomach that did the damage."

"Where's the... rest of... Mr Filch?" Snape looked towards the open doorway of the first floor's girls' bathroom. "And Weasley?"

Neville pointed at the first cubicle just inside where a red-haired boy was visible, slumped over, head down the toilet. "Knocked himself out levitating the troll's club, sir."

.

The Investigation

Next morning, Professor Flitwick was marking homework in his office. He leaned back and released a sigh of satisfaction; his first years had the best average in living memory – possibly ever.

There was a knock on the door.

"Enter."

The door opened.

"Ah, Potter, come in. Changed your mind about playing for your house?"

"Uumm... no, sir. ... Professor, I was wondering how the investigations were going."

"Investigations?"

"Into the decapitation of Mr Filch."

Flitwick frowned. "A sad business. That creature tore him apart like a chicken wing. Being a squib, Mr Filch had no protection. Longbottom did very well, though I'm not sure I approve of his using such an explosive spell."

"No, I meant, how did the troll get into the castle?"

"That, I confess, is a mystery."

Harry frowned. _Never stop_ "But how far have the Aurors followed its path back? Trolls leave very distinctive tracks."

"Aurors?"

"Professor, a man has been killed. Surely the Aurors have been called?"

"That, Harry, is a matter for the Headmaster."

_Never stop._ "Then I'll appeal to the Headmaster."

"Do not concern yourself, Harry. I'm sure the–"

"–concern? CONCERN! Professor, a dark wizard tried to kill me once, and he's still out there! Who knows what method he–"

"–You can't believe that, Potter! You-know-who died when his killing curse rebounded from you."

"I do believe it, sir – in fact I know it. I've been given positive proof from a Ministry Keeper official. And if a stupid troll can so easily get into Hogwarts without leaving a trace, then I'm certain Voldemort can do the same. If you won't do anything about my safety, then I'll speak to Professor Dumbledore!"

For the second time, Flitwick stared gobsmacked as Harry walked away.

.

An Unlikely Occurrence

"Enter..."

Harry pushed aggressively into the Headmaster's office, annoyance on his face. "Sir, why haven't the Aurors been summoned to investigate the killing of Mr Filch?"

Dumbledore's silvery-grey brow furrowed. "Aurors deal only with crime, Harry. Poor Mr Filch was attacked by a wild beast. An unfortunate accident."

"Accident, you say?" choked Harry. "So a troll accidentally wandered into the most protected magical building in the country?" _never stop_ "And if it happens again tomorrow – ten times a week – and kills a hundred children? You'd still say they were accidents?"

"Harry, that's hardly likely now is it?"

"Not likely? Ah well, that's most reassuring. Thank you, Professor. I'll sleep easy tonight. I'll tell my friends not to worry because it's _unlikely_ they'll get torn apart in their beds."

"Harry..."

"Don't worry, Professor. It's _unlikely_ I'll ever trouble you again."

And Harry walked away.

.

On The Trail

Harry was still simmering at lunch. "Luna, what do you know about trolls?"

"They have a great sense of smell, Harry. It carries for miles. I love wild creatures, don't you?"

Harry wrinkled up his nose in frustration. "No, I meant–"

"–Mr Hagrid has a boarhound," smiled Luna, dreamily.

Harry sighed. This was going nowhere. Still... _never stop!_

"Luna..."

"Boarhounds are such wonderful hunting dogs," romanticised Luna. "Fang knows when I'm about to visit before I do."

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, realisation dawning in the stupid troll areas of his brain cells. He threw down his unfinished tuna sandwich. "Luna come with me. I'd like you to introduce me to this... Mr...?"

"Hagrid."

Hermione and Neville exchanged glances. She sighed and scooped up several sandwiches and pies which she stuffed into the pockets of her robe. "We'll come too."

They were soon knocking on the door of Hagrid's home – a hut near the Forbidden Forest.

"Harry? Harry Potter? Come in, come in, all o' yeh..."

"So you see, Hagrid," said Harry, after he'd fully explained the situation, "we thought Fang would be ideal for tracking how the troll got into the castle."

The huge dog pricked up its ears eagerly at the sound of its name, but Hagrid looked doubtful. "I dunno, Harry. I think I should ask Professor Dumbledore if–"

"–He's already agreed," lied Harry. "It was his idea actually." The others looked askance, and Neville was gazing at the ceiling whistling softly, but Harry kept facing forward with the most innocent expression he could muster, and Hagrid yielded.

Harry grinned and pulled out the cracked old saucer he'd found on the landing.

"Where'd yer get tha', Harry?"

"Erm, think the troll must have dropped it."

"Tha's a toenail, tha' is – see all tha' cheesy gunk underneath where yer holdin' it? Let Fang 'ave a sniff then..."

Harry pulled a face, and after holding the repulsive cuticle out at arm's length to the dog, dropped it and wiped his hands on his hankie in disgust.

Fang was quickly on the trail, tongue lolling out and slathering. He led them to the side door that gave access from the castle to the greenhouses.

"See tha' little crack?" said Hagrid as he inspected the door frame. "Splinters forced off. Troll musta' pushed quietly in this way unnoticed."

"Uumm, Hagrid, wouldn't a troll more sort of... barge the whole door off along with half the wall?"

"Who knows wha' trolls might do, Harry?" said Hagrid gravely. "Maybe thought 'e could sneak out a few bones to gnaw on, unseen like."

Harry wasn't convinced. Stealthy finesse didn't seem to be a method a troll would have any comprehension of, and he could detect a faint but definite taint of dark magic around the door. Hermione nodded earnestly at Harry, as if she could sense what he was thinking.

Up the back stairs they trudged, following the loudly sniffing dog until finally...

"Seems to 'ave blundered back an' forth on th' first floor wondering where everyone were, before heading forward," said Hagrid. "Bit dim trolls are, if yer get my drift."

"Come on, Fang," said Harry, encouragingly. "Try down the main stairs..."

But Fang was having none of it. He'd now found the area where the troll had died, and seemed satisfied his prey was accounted for. The trail ended there.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

_Yes, I confess I got the troll location non-canon even though I did check first – should have been down the basement stairs, but I only realised after this and the next chapter were so far advanced I could see no way to rewrite them easily. So, in this fic, it's a first-floor bathroom. _

_And yes, I swore I'd never do a template Potter fic again with trolls in dungeons etc., but I was agonising over Harry walking away from absolutely everything and the story being too dull. I decided to keep some of the original elements but make them as drastically different as I can, and thereby hopefully more interesting. _

_Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

**– Hippothestrowl**

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	8. The Wrath Of Mercy!

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_So far... On his seventh birthday, Harry Potter was inspired to never stop asking for help. He learned about magic early and, adopted by Mercy Fuller, launched a junior academy, mainly for Muggle-raised children aged seven to ten. Friends were made. Now at Hogwarts, Mr Filch is killed by a troll. Read on... _

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**Chapter 8**

**The Wrath Of Mercy!**

* * *

.

Owling Home

Lessons kept them busy all afternoon, but that evening, in the Ravenclaw common room, Harry could not rest. _never stop!_

"Why did Quirrell say the troll was in the dungeon, then?" he mused aloud, his quill slowing to a halt on his homework parchment. He stared unseeingly at whatever he'd been writing. "And..." He paused, having just remembered the–

"–What is it, Harry?" said Neville.

"Uuh... nothing, just thinking about... Well, I heard an uumm... strange voice in the Great Hall after everyone had left because of the troll last night."

Neville glanced at Hermione. "Maybe you should keep quiet about that, Harry. Hearing voices when there's no one there is not exactly–"

"–Fairies," said Luna dreamily. "I hear them all the time sometimes."

Harry, still gazing blindly down at his homework, slowly shook his head. "This was no fairy, Luna. More like..." He jerked upright. "It was _him!"_

"Who, Harry?"

"Voldemort!" He searched the faces of his friends but saw mostly doubt. "I'm _sure_ it was! Listen, I used to faintly imagine that voice in my head years ago – what if it was a real memory? Isn't it very likely that, as he tried to kill me when I was a baby, he said something? A threat? A violent cry? And he'd have to shout the killing curse itself! Even a baby would never forget that, right? And Quirrell knows something too! I'm going to–"

"–Sit down, Harry!" cried Hermione. "Think this thing through first. Professor Quirrell is a nervous wreck – hardly the sort of person to get involved with dark lords and suchlike."

Harry sagged back down in response to his smart friend's reasoning. "Even so..."

He wouldn't hesitate to walk away from any threat or unjust demand imposed on him, but he knew he would _never stop_ asking for help or giving it. He'd scarcely known Mr Filch, and the caretaker didn't strike him as particularly likeable. But he hadn't deserved to die in such a gruesome way. None of the staff seemed to care that a troll had entered the school and killed someone. It could have been anyone. Or any number. There had been no announcement by the Headmaster as to why the school should be any safer now than before!

"Harry...?"

His mother would be giving a Potions class in the morning, but there'd be no time for lengthy discussion with her of the danger. It simply would not be fair to hold her up while there were youngsters more in need of her attention back at the Academy. He'd owl her tonight! Yes, that was it! He jumped to his feet.

"Harry!"

He sank down again. But what could he say to her? Hogwarts wasn't safe? Voldemort might be able to get in? Might already be in! He had no interest in fighting that monster! Maybe it was time to walk away from Hogwarts forever...?

"HARRY!"

"What!" He was on his feet again.

"You've been muttering to yourself for the last two minutes," said Hermione. "If you're this troubled, you should talk it over with your mum."

"Troubled? Aren't _you?_ Are we even safe here? Neville, you could have been killed yesterday! What about tomorrow? And Weasley could have been– is he okay now?"

Neville nodded. "He thinks he knocked out the troll. Is bragging about it."

"He doesn't know you saved his life?"

"Not important," said Neville. Luna squeezed his hand.

Harry sighed. "We've got Defence in three days time and I'll have to face Quirrell again. Not sure how I feel about that. I don't think a troll could or would let itself into Hogwarts – somebody let it in and Quirrell's the only suspect. He couldn't have seen it down in the dungeons because it never went down there. But why alert everyone?"

Luna waved her wand and pretty white sparkles fluttered about like fireflies, disrupting Harry's sequence of thoughts.

"Luna..." he growled in mild irritation.

Colour exploded softly rotating above, melting pastels and blushes of more vivid hues weaving through. Harry lost track of the pale sparkles as he gaped at the intricate patterns above. So beautiful was the display that other students looked around too.

"Luna, why are you–"

"–It's called a diversion, Harry," smiled Luna. "Everyone was out of the way so that Professor Quirrell could do something wicked – but _you_ were there, so he was diverted from his own diversion. Then Professor Snape arrived and diverted him from _his_ diversion. It's a wonder his head's not spinning."

"You're right. I'm going to owl Mum – _she'll_ know what to do." And with that, he dashed off.

Hermione called after him, but he was already out the door. She rolled her eyes, sighed, picked up a spare piece of parchment and a quill, and set off after him.

Harry was already sprinting back down the owlery steps as she ascended. "Can't stop! Forgot to write the– oh!" Hermione was waving the parchment in the air.

"Honestly, Harry! Come on, you can write your message up here."

Harry cringed a sheepish grin. "What would I do without you, Hermione?"

She used a cleansing charm to clear owl droppings off a wooden bench, and they sat down together while he scribbled out a note, putting in every detail he could think of, including Fang's tracking and the splintered side door. Finally, he chewed on the end of the quill. "Think that's about it..."

"Tell her about the painful death warning not to go near the third-floor corridor."

"The what?"

"Didn't you listen at all to the Headmaster's announcements at the opening feast?"

"Erm... too preoccupied worrying about Neville being separated from us."

"Forbidden Forest...?"

"Uumm... anyway, friends shouldn't be parted..."

"No magic in the corridors?"

"We're... aren't we allowed to use magic in the corridors?"

"No, don't write that! But tell her about that voice you heard."

"Okay." He scratched away for a while then nibbled the quill for a while longer. "Do you think I'm silly for supposing we'll never be parted? I mean, what about when we finally leave Hogwarts and get separate jobs?"

At that, he looked up at his friend, the idea of not seeing her again caused an unpleasant ache in his chest. "We'll always be in touch though, won't we, Hermione?"

"Always," she said, but his words had caused a sinking feeling in her own stomach.

"Love," she said.

"What?"

She tapped the parchment, "Give your mother my love."

"Right... _Hermione sends her love..._"

Hermione leaned closer to watch him write, and felt a sudden urge to kiss him on the cheek. She jumped up instead and coaxed an owl over with a treat. Together, Harry and Hermione watched the bird speeding out of the window and head south towards London. "Wonder what Mum'll do..." murmured Harry.

"Call the Aurors, I expect," said Hermione. "Come on, let's finish our homework. Castle security is not our problem anymore. Put it out of your mind, Harry."

And together, they walked away.

.

Surprising News

The next morning at breakfast, Harry watched as a girl timidly approached Dumbledore at the head table. There was something very odd about her and, for a few seconds, he could not think what it might be...

"She's not wearing house colours!" said Hermione, whose eyes had followed the direction of Harry's gaze. "More like... almost staff robes, but not tall enough even for a seventh-year..."

They both scanned the row of seated teachers to see if the diminutive figure might be a prefect substituting for one of them...

"Only Quirrell's not there yet. Surely she can't be teaching Defence? Hardly an inch or two over five foot."

The Headmaster took a document from the girl and nodded. She turned away to exit the way she had entered, and it was only then that Harry could see the despondent expression on her clearly-adult features. Perhaps it was that very expression that made her look so plain – even unattractive. Her cheap clothing reminded him of his early years. The young woman was hurrying as if anxious to get out of there.

"Your attention, please!" cried the Headmaster, tapping a goblet with his wand, and rising to his feet. "May I introduce our new caretaker, Miss Hyacinth Wack."

The surprised girl hesitated in her stride, unsure of what was expected of her at that moment. Hermione wondered if she were going to curtsy. But as Slytherins began laughing at her name, and raised whispers of "_Mudblood-Squib!"_ reached everyone's ears, the young woman increased her former pace, and almost ran towards the exit.

"You would all do well," continued Dumbledore, "to keep observing the rules and guidelines set by the late Mr Filch. Thank you."

The new caretaker was saved from any further embarrassment by the distraction of dozens of owls flying in. Harry's head jerked up, looking for Mercy's bird. Hermione gave some bacon rind to a news owl, and began to open up the day's copy of the Daily–

–SHRIEKS!

Hermione wasn't the only one preparing to read the Daily Prophet, and some had beaten her to it. "Oh – my – God!" She gazed down at the pulsating headline...

CRIME AT HOGWARTS!  
HEADMASTER REFUSES  
TO NOTIFY THE AURORS!

"Listen to this, Harry! _At Halloween, a mountain troll somehow entered Hogwarts and killed one of the staff, and would no doubt have killed many others if a courageous student had not destroyed the beast! But how did it get inside the castle? Whereas the entire Hogwarts faculty casually dismissed the mystery as unsolvable and the danger to our children as irrelevant, it only took a few minutes for a really smart Ravenclaw student to suggest using a hunting dog to prove th–_"

–Harry smirked and preened himself – but Hermione sniffed disdainfully and turned to the dreamy, blonde-haired girl beside her. "Well done for helping solve the mystery, Luna."

"What!" Harry deflated. "Oh yeah, congratulations on your erm... idea, Luna."

Hermione continued to read aloud, "_Despite the Headmaster's vain attempts to vanish all the evidence (itself, a crime), the boarhound's keen nose clearly demonstrated the route the huge mountain troll took exclusively to the castle's first floor. Why then did Quirinus Quirrell – a former Muggle Studies Professor and would-be Dark Arts teacher – insist that he'd seen the troll in the dungeons? This reporter for one, is convinced that only somebody skilled in the Dark Arts would have the knowledge and power to bring a dull-brained troll inside the Hogwarts magical defences which, we are led to believe, are impassable. Or are they? And why was the crime – for crime it clearly was – covered up? Swept under the carpet? Are YOUR children still safe at Hogwarts?"_

"Wow! Just Wow!" cried Harry, stretching across Hermione to read it with her – she didn't pull away this time. "Mum's really gone for the jugular. Didn't realise she'd be _this_ furious!"

"Because she's worried about your safety, Harry," said Hermione, then added thoughtfully, "This has to be why Professor Quirrell is not here for breakfast. He probably saw an earlier edition and fled. I think you were right; he _was_ involved!"

A shadow cast across the couple. "Potter, the Headmaster wishes to see you in his office right away," said McGonagall in a frosty voice before sweeping away.

"Me...?" murmured Harry, but loud enough for McGonagall to hear. She paused in her stride but then continued her departure. In fact she strode right out of the Great Hall, and Harry wondered if he'd been supposed to follow her.

"I'd better go. The old goat will probably–"

"–Harry!" cried Hermione, "You ought to show a little respect. He is the Headmaster, after all."

"Respect? I'll show respect when he does. Is it respectful for him to support Snape's bullying? It's not right – it's cruel. He did nothing to reprimand those slimy Slytherins this morning when they humiliated that new woman. I think Mum knows something about Dumbledore too, but she won't tell me. Probably thinks I'd kill him if I knew. If Mum hadn't agreed to a compromise, I don't think I'd have–"

"–It would be lovely if your mother could be Headmistress of Hogwarts," said Luna, in her usual dreamy way. "Just think if she fought and fought and got rid of all the silly bad things and only kept the good ones."

"Not sure Hogwarts would survive," smirked Neville, which started everyone giggling. "Now children," he added, in a high falsetto that was an atrocious imitation of Mercy Fuller, "what say we all take the day off from boring lessons and practise hugging Slytherins for a ch–"

–Thunderous knocking from the front doors echoed into the Great Hall, and Hagrid jerked to his feet – half-overturning his table – and with great strides went to answer the summons.

Three-quarters of the students had abandoned the remains of breakfast and surged out to witness this latest development. "Now, now..." rumbled Hagrid, ploughing through them like a great bear. "–'fficial Hogwarts business..." He pulled a weighty keyring the size of a small lifebuoy from his pocket and opened the door. Scarlet robes flashed: Senior Aurors!

.

Flannel

Harry sprinted up the marble staircase as fast as he could. The visitors were bound to insist on seeing the Headmaster, and he wanted to be there when they did. He caught up to McGonagall waiting by the admission gargoyle. She said nothing but led him up the spiral steps without waiting for him to get his breath back.

But though Harry was so winded and felt like leaning over to grasp his legs in support while he got his breath back, he did not: he braced himself against a tall dark bookcase on the left, remained upright, resolute, steadily controlling his breathing, and with his hands clasped behind his back – like a soldier standing at attention.

Dumbledore's eyes were not twinkling.

"Harry, I am greatly disappointed in you," he said, tapping the newspaper that lay face up on his desk.

Harry, still refraining from gasping for air, forced a puzzled frown. "Why's that, sir?"

"You should not speak to the press about Hogwarts matters that do not concern you."

Harry widened his eyes in mock astonishment. "You think it was me that wrote to the Daily Prophet?"

"Can you deny it?"

"Absolutely. I was as amazed as anyone to read the news this morning."

Dumbledore shook his head in disbelief.

"I swear on my Magic, Professor! I had no idea this would happen. It never occurred to me to contact the Daily Prophet. If anything, I'd have called the Aurors to question Quirrell." _Any minute now..._ thought Harry, and, behind his back, fingered the blue ring he wore.

"_Professor_ Quirrell, Harry. And why would–"

"–I don't think he's a professor anymore, Headmaster," said Harry slyly. "Didn't you notice he didn't come to breakfast? Done a bunk, I'd say. Probably in South America selling Hogwarts silverware is my guess." Like the _riskless_, he'd scarcely used the blue ring he'd bought in Curiosas' except for fun, but he knew it did more than offer light shield protection. _Any minute now..._

"Harry this is not a matter to be treated frivolously."

"Do I look like I'm laughing? Mr Filch is dead. Dead. His death was caused by a dark wizard who somehow lured a troll into Hogwarts to divert the staff in the wrong direction while he–"

–And then it hit Harry like a thunderbolt. What had Hermione told him to put in the message to his mother? _Tell her about the painful death warning not to go near the third-floor corridor._

"Divert the staff from what, Harry...?" said Dumbledore.

"...while he went up to the third-floor corridor." Harry was guessing, but he knew from McGonagall's shocked reaction he was right. And then he had another brainwave. "What's up there endangered every child in this school and brought about the killing of Mr Filch!"

"Harry, do you _know_ what is on the third floor?" Dumbledore said quietly.

"Of course!" lied Harry. "Everyone does – though something that valuable will be in South America by now." _Any second..._

For the first time, Harry saw great alarm in Dumbledore's eyes. He'd just leapt to his feet when there was a loud rapping at the door.

"Who's there?"

Harry twisted his blue ring fully round and took a step back into the shadow of the bookcase...

The door opened. "Aurors, Headmaster," said Hagrid, and left, awkwardly struggling to get his bulk around the newcomers and down the narrow spiral stair.

"And why are you here?" demanded Dumbledore, as the two officials entered the chamber.

"We are investigating the killing that took place here at Hogwarts, said one of them. "I'm Scrimgeour and this is Dawlish."

"I know who you are," said Dumbledore sourly.

Harry could clearly see his anxiety even from across the room. Ever since he suggested his 'valuable object' was likely already stolen. What could it be that had so unsettled the fearless Dumbledore?

"This will have to wait," continued the Headmaster. "Something more urgent demands my att–"

"–Wait? No, Headmaster, we INSIST!" said Scrimgeour sharply. "I have here a warrant to search the entire castle. You will not resist this order, but we need information from you first, and we need it right now."

Dumbledore thought quickly. He needed to satisfy them with something. "My own investigations–" – Harry gasped loudly in annoyance, but nobody took any notice while the great man was speaking – "–led me to believe the troll was a diversion set up by our Professor Quirrell while he attempted to steal an extremely valuable artifact. I have only just realised this myself, so you will understand if I go and check that–"

"–We'll come with you."

"That won't be necessary. I must–"

"–If it is connected with this crime then I demand that we come along."

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well, but I tell you this in absolute confidence, you understand. I need you to swear you will not divulge this information to anyone – to anyone mind."

"So long as it need not be shared in connection with this investigation and possible trial, I swear."

"As do I," said Dawlish.

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "The object I am protecting here at Hogwarts was first magically wrapped up by Nicholas Flamel and secretly placed in a Gringotts vault – yet was almost stolen you might recall."

Scrimgeour's eyes bulged in astonishment. "The Philosopher's Stone? Is that what was in that Gringotts' vault! And you have it here?"

Dumbledore nodded. "So you see why absolute secrecy is necessary. Come with me if you must..."

Scrimgeour blocked the door. "First tell me which was the student who discovered the beast's trail into the castle?"

"Ah, that would be..." For a few moments, Dumbledore looked puzzled. "Minerva, did you tell Harry to leave?"

"No, he's... he must have slipped out when..."

The Headmaster was immediately alert. His eyes widened in alarm and began scanning around his office before finally focusing on Harry. "Harry? You're still here?"

"Yes, of course, sir. You never told me to go, so I erm..."

"You heard everything?"

"Nothing I didn't know already. Is something wrong, sir? You must have been too distracted to remember I was waiting for you."

Dumbledore frowned. "But how–"

"–Is this Harry Potter? He's the one?" said Scrimgeour. "Dawlish, you question the boy. I'll go with Dumbledore to see if anything's been stolen."

.

Puzzle solved

"Harry, promise me you didn't tell the Auror you hear voices!" said Hermione, as he explained what had happened on their way to Potions.

"Not voices, Hermione – _one_ voice. And it was Voldemort."

"And he believed you?"

"I told him the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy will confirm Voldemort must be still alive."

"But..."

The four children turned into the next passageway and headed to the stairs at the far end.

"Hermione, it's not my problem whether anyone believes it or not. Anyway, I found out something more interesting."

"What?" said the other three together.

"I know what the danger is up on the third floor."

The three looked at one another then repeated, "What?"

"It's a total secret so you mustn't tell ANYONE."

"WHAT!"

"It's the Phosphorous Stone of course."

"The what?" said Hermione.

"You don't know?"

She shook her head, frowning, and trying to think.

Harry's shoulders slumped a little. "I was hoping you'd know. Anyway it must be jolly dangerous. Dumbledore said it had been magically wrapped in knickerless flannel to keep it safe in a vault.

"It's Flam–_ell_" said Neville gravely. "Nicholas Flamel. He's a friend of Dumbledore's. It's on his chocolate frog card."

They stared at him.

"What?" Neville responded defensively. "I used to collect them before I... before I grew up."

But Hermione was deep in thought. "Flamel... Flamel... – of course," she cried as they reached the five steps that led into their Potions classroom. "I remember it now. The Philosopher's Stone can turn any metal into gold and make the Elixir of Life – that's what Professor Quirrell must have been after. It would make Voldemort immortal."

"Aah..." sighed Harry. "Puzzle solved. Thought we'd never stop. At least we can forget about that now and concentrate on our magic. Come on, up the steps before Mum – I mean Professor Fuller – shows up. I think we're producing a chocolate froth draught and everlasting liquid ice cream potion with cherries today."

"I love your mum, Harry," said Luna.

"So do I," said Harry. "So do I."

And with that, they walked away.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

_In a review, Trucker brought up this problem about Brit use of 'first floor' compared with American use. I sometimes use 'first upper floor' but in Chapter 7 I think the occurrences were speech. Can't think of an easy solution. If we Brits officially switched to the American form I'd embrace it; makes more sense. _

_Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

**– Hippothestrowl**

.


	9. Valuable Lessons

.

_So far... 7th birthday, Harry was inspired to never stop asking for and giving help. Adopted by Mercy Fuller, he launched a junior academy. Now at Hogwarts, a troll killed Filch. Aurors investigated after Mercy informed the Daily Prophet. Harry's sure Voldemort was after the Philosopher's Stone. Read on... _

.

**Chapter 9**

**Valuable Lessons**

* * *

.

The Hidden Instruction

Mercy Fuller's Potions classroom was far more light and airy than Snape's dungeon could ever be. The weather had turned surprisingly mild for November, the windows were half open, and one of the last Glumbumbles of summer had droned mournfully in, attracted by the pleasant aroma of the many herbs and spices that filled the air. Quickly the arriving children's excitement became dampened, and a few frowns appeared here and there as they came in the door.

"Good morning, children," began the impervious Mercy with a beaming smile as they were entering, "take your places and pair up with whoever you wish. However, you'll be needing a second-year spell – the freezing charm – so make sure one of you can perform it adequately. Come to me if you're stuck and I'll help you."

Hermione's hand shot up comically almost before she'd come through the door. "Do you mean _Immobulus_, Professor? I thought it was only for stopping things moving?"

"That is its effect on active objects and living creatures, but on passive materials like ingredients, the spell hinders the oscillation of its particles which is–?"

"–HEAT!" cried Hermione, jumping up and down on her heels with delight. "Heat energy in matter is the vibration of molecules and atoms."

"Correct – five points to Ravenclaw. But make sure you only cast the charm very lightly or your cream will become absolutely and painfully cold. For example, with such delicate use of the spell I can reduce the speed of this insect without actually stopping it. ... _Immobulus_ It's all about fine control of your magic."

The strident buzzing of the Glumbumble's wings were reduced to a miserable flap, and the startled creature hung suspended in the air for many seconds before despondently turning to make a very long exit back to the Forest.

The mood brightened without its gloomy influence and the students began looking around for who to partner with and where to sit, but were distracted by their teacher's next action...

Mercy had conjured up a floating, rotating whiteboard and spun it extremely fast with her wand, then lightly cast the freezing charm so it would eventually come to a halt, but not stop immediately. Harry saw it flashing grey and realised it was a blackboard on the other side. As it slowed down, he perceived lettering and sketches on both sides. The whizzing board hummed as it spun, and Harry recognised the tune it was humming, but couldn't remember its name without any lyrics. His mother was certainly entertaining, and miles better than Snape.

"Harry...?" Hermione indicated an empty bench with a hopeful look on her face.

"Uumm..." teased Harry, looking around as if to see who else was available to partner with him. "Oh, alright then," he grinned.

She broke out in smiles then and started pulling books, notes, quills and other paraphernalia out of her bag onto the bench. The humming of the white–blackboard slowed down to its final chorus and Harry frowned, trying to recall the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

Hermione softly sang, "Ask–him–to–reap–with–a–Sickle–of–leather," and as the board came to a halt with the blackboard facing them, she pointed at one of the many ingredients which was a Silver-Sickle's worth of fairy-vellum: the finest membrane ever made, anywhere.

Now the tune was even more familiar – though he couldn't recall those particular lyrics until Hermione continued her singing without it, "Parsley–sage–rosemary–and–thyme..."

"Aah, now I know why I agreed to partner with you," he grinned.

"And–gather–it up–with–rope–made–of–heather..."

Hermione's voice was so sweet, and so relevant to the brew's ingredients, that everyone had silently paused to listen, entranced by the melody.

"For–then–you'll–be–a... true–love–of–mine..." Hermione was blushing furiously as the last words passed her lips, but she could hardly stop with everyone watching.

"Devil's Broth?" cried Neville, glaring at the blackboard and then accusingly at Harry. "I thought you said–"

"–Now children," cut in Madam Fuller, "we have a choice of either of two quite different potions, yet both of which share many of the same ingredients. More importantly, the preparation and brewing are also very similar so the lesson will effectively be the same. However, for Devil's Broth you'll also need to clean and scrape several giant sloth's rectums before you can suck the mixture through them as straws, as well as the meticulous squeezing and preparation of four skunk's anal glands, plus, of course, my personal favourite: the snot from several disgruntled pigs' snouts."

Jaws dropped in shock and disgust.

"What's the other choice, _Professor?"_ said Harry in a shaky voice, well aware of his mother's sense of humour but keeping his fingers crossed over his blue ring behind him anyway. Perhaps he could slip away without her noticing...

"Let's see..." A wand swish turned the board over to the whiteboard. "Draught of Chocofroth with crème glacée éternelle and moonlit cherry delight."

"Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!"

"The catch is..." continued Mercy.

The students fell silent.

"It can only be one or the other for the entire class, so you must learn to negotiate complete and total agreement."

Several seconds passed as they tried to digest what she'd said, then it took them about one second for a show of hands to agree.

"Strange..." she murmured to herself, but loudly enough that everyone could hear, "why do first-years always choose the whiteboard option? More than a few spoonfuls will give you stomachache whereas Devil's Broth fires you up to bring wicked rewards throughout your day."

_Always the hidden message,_ thought Harry, exchanging a knowing smile with his mother. _Never judge by appearances._

Fortunately, the spoons that Mercy Fuller handed out at the end of the lesson were more like scoops, so it was with fat, contented stomachs that the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-years finally made their way out for a free period – their Defence class being cancelled until a new teacher could be found to replace the missing Quirrell.

.

The Life Debt

"My ice cream didn't last as long as I'd hoped," said Luna in a rare grumble as they walked down to find a spare classroom to practise spells in. "I don't think they should call it everlasting, do you?"

Hermione said, "It's the 'ice' part that's everlasting, Luna. The soft ice cream never actually melts until you eat it."

"But then the ice cream is not really everlasting is it? It should be more like when you have your cake and eat it too, so you're never without cake. Mummy used to bake a–"

"–_scourgify!"_

Harry paused as he was reaching out to the handle of the door before which they had stopped, then put his finger to his lips. "Listen..." he hissed.

"_scourgify! scourgify! scourgify!"_ Then silence followed by–

"–That's the new caretaker's voice," whispered Hermione. "I thought she was a Squib."

"No," said Luna, "I saw the shape of a wand in her pocket at breakfast."

Again, Harry was reminded of how observant Luna could be, no matter how absent-minded she appeared.

Neville braced himself. "Squib or not, 'Wack' is not the name of any known magical family. Let's just go in and–"

"–Don't," said Harry, firmly. He'd experienced enough humiliation in his younger life to know the sound of stifled sobbing. "You lot find another room."

"What are _you_ going to do, Harry?" said Hermione, but she kind of knew the answer.

"I'm not sure..." _never stop, never stop, never stop offering help..._

He waited until they'd all left then quietly knocked and entered. "Oh, sorry!" he said, "I thought this room was empty. I wanted to practise a few spells."

"You're... you're..."

"Harry Potter, pleased to meet you Miss Wack, or may I call you Hyacinth?"

She nodded, quickly hid her wand and smoothed her hands over her pinafore robe.

There was still an awful lot of dust around, and she'd brought a sweeping brush and feather duster into the room with her just in case, Harry noticed. "Look, it's none of my business but your wand isn't right." – he was taking an awful gamble – "I mean, well, I admit I heard your spell from outside and it sounded brilliant, so it's got to be your wand."

She glared and lifted her small frame up to its full five foot two to show she was both taller than, and senior to, Harry, then, just as suddenly, she seemed to remember who she was talking with, and sagged down again. "It's my great-great-great-grandfather's wand, and he did wonderful–"

–_never stop!_ "On your mother's side?" said Harry, recalling what Neville had said.

She nodded. "How did you–"

"–Your parents are Muggles, aren't they?"

"What if they are!" she flared, then instantly deflated again.

_never stop!_ "My natural mother was a Muggle-born too, but my adoptive mum prefers to use the term 'New-blood' – and so do I when possible. She says the Magical community would die out without new blood, so we set up an academy to give them the support that the Ministry fails to do. _never stop!_ Did you go to school at Hogwarts?"

"Look, I've got work to do and–"

–_never stop!_ "Well, if you need a friend, you can count on me. Look..." he swung his bag off his shoulder and dug into it. "Here's my old beginner's wand – give it a try. It can't do every spell but..." Again he scrabbled through his stuff. "Here's the instructions, and the spells it can do! Uumm..." He held up a tattered little booklet, grinning ruefully. "Yeah, well, it got used a lot."

A tiny smile appeared on the woman's face at his genuine eagerness to help as she accepted his gift. "Thanks."

"Anyway, you can also call on the elves for these mundane tasks – you're more of a castle manager than a skivvy – didn't the Headmaster explain all that?"

She shook her head. "Not sure I'm good enough..." then she muttered, "I was failed out of Hogwarts..."

"What?"

"End of my first year. Professor Dumbledore tried to keep me on, but I scored 'Troll' on three of my end-of-term practicals, and the other test results were probably sympathy scores anyway..."

"Yeah, well, Dumbledore should have tried harder to help you!" cried Harry.

"He got me this job!" shouted Hyacinth.

"He should have got you a wand!" fumed Harry. "Listen, Dumbledore appears to mean well but he doesn't take enough care over people who need support and advice. My mum could help you there. In fact..." He scribbled down the Academy address and handed the note to Hyacinth. "And while you're in Diagon Alley, get yourself a wand that's attuned to you. The wand has to choose _you_; don't just use a family wand unless it feels right."

"Erm... maybe next year when I'm not so uumm... busy."

"A loan. You need a loan if you don't get paid till the end of November. The Academy provides loans for gifted people. Tell mum I sent you. We absolutely never refuse anyone who genuinely needs help."

She found the courage to stare at him then. "You don't even know who I am. Why are you helping me?"

"Because _I_ was helped when I was little, so it's a kind of life debt."

"But you don't owe _me_ anything!"

"No, to Life; I owe Life itself a debt. And it'll take me a lifetime to pay it off."

With a final smile, Harry walked away.

.

Mental and Magical Dexterity

Harry found his friends back in Mercy's now-vacant Potions classroom. They'd moved benches apart to clear the middle of the chamber. Neville was sitting on a brightly-patterned rug staring at Hermione's open box of magic puzzles, and looking rather dejected. "Harry! Have you done this one? They won't show me! Well, Luna would have, but Hermione won't let her."

"But that would spoil the challenge," said Hermione, smugly casting blue flames that danced around her in the air, illuminating Neville's face as he looked up. He squirmed around rubbing his hands across the beautiful carpet and averted his scowl.

"Did Hyacinth stop crying, Harry?" said Luna.

"Yeah – she's been using an old family wand without much success. I remembered, Neville, that you didn't have much luck with your dad's wand, so..."

"That's right," said Neville, "but your mother soon sorted me out with a new wand. It's not helping me here much though..." He stretched out across his long mat and pointed to what looked like three chess pieces in the box on the floor nearby. "Supposed to give you practice with _Accio_"

"And Ravenclaw wit," said Hermione, sending her flames into beautiful spirals up to the ceiling.

Harry frowned. "The summoning charm? Isn't that fourth-year?"

"But you can do it if you really try," said Luna. "We all learned it while you were downstairs."

"WHAT! You three can all do it?"

"Not perfectly," said Hermione, "but that's what the practice puzzle is for."

"Let's have it," groaned Harry. "Tell me what to do."

Hermione showed him the wand movement and incantation. Ten minutes passed before one of the chess pieces twitched, but one minute later it leapt towards him and he caught it in flight. "Got it! Piece of cake really," he added haughtily as he stuck it back in the box.

"That's not the puzzle, Harry," smirked Hermione.

"What then?"

"You have to steer it onto the _other_ magic carpet."

"The what! A MAGIC carpet? Where's that then?"

"You're standing on it."

Harry leapt about a foot in the air then dodged sideways. "Damn, are these even legal?" He gazed down. The carpet was faded grey and looking rather forlorn. No wonder he hadn't noticed it.

"It's not a real flying carpet, Harry," said Neville. "Just a game carpet like the one I'm on. Came shrunk in the puzzle box."

Harry nodded. The large brightly-patterned rug upon which Neville lay boasted a great many vivid colours.

"It's legal in Persia," said Luna, sagely. "You can fly it all round the world in Persia."

Hermione stifled whatever retort she'd been about to make, and rolled her eyes instead. "The point is, you have to summon all three pieces onto the carpet with you."

"All at once!"

"No, Harry," smiled Hermione, "not all at once. The puzzle is to teach you magical dexterity and logic."

"O...kaaay..."

Several minutes passed. He could now summon each piece within reach of his snatch almost every time, but Hermione scolded him if he simply placed it by hand on the carpet at his feet. "_Magical_ dexterity, remember?"

Finally, after breaking out in a sweat of concentration, Harry managed to summon one of the pieces to land on the carpet with him. It exploded into bright red flames about eighteen inches high, almost singeing his trousers and, once again, he leapt away from the carpet. "What the heck is that!" There was an impish little face within the fire, and the flames formed limbs with which it cavorted about madly.

He became aware the girls were laughing softly, and even Neville sat up and was grinning broadly.

"It's a fire demon, Harry," explained Hermione. "It can't get off the carpet but it won't behave itself unless you are on the carpet with it – since you are the one who summoned it, you're its master."

Tentatively, Harry stepped back onto the dull fabric, and the creature settled down to a reddish glow that glared up at him. "Well, that wasn't so bad," said Harry.

Neville said, "The problem is to get all three pieces onto that carpet, then get them home."

Harry's face wrinkled up in consternation. Neville reached into the box and opened up a folded sheet of yellowing parchment. "The puzzle story in basically this, Harry. You are a great wizard who's magic carpet is worn out – that's the grey one – and you have to get your familiars home from the market on this new carpet you've just bought."

"So I have to summon them here, then summon them there?"

"Yes, but–"

"–Don't tell him, Neville," said Hermione. "Let him find out for himself."

"Find out what?" said Harry.

Hermione hummed softly to herself as she played with her blue flames.

"Find out what, Hermione?" growled Harry.

"You'll see."

Harry sighed and summoned the second piece. It missed landing on his carpet so he had to try many times. Neville, he noticed, had moved well away from the other carpet.

Finally, the second piece splashed over his shoes, soaking his trouser legs. "Don't tell me – water sprite?"

Luna giggled. "Isn't she cute?"

"How can you tell it's a– aaaagh!" As the globule of water took shape, he could see that it's glistening naked curves were definitely female. The girl was almost his knee height from where she gazed seductively up at him and delicately crooned. The fire demon spat and crackled in jealousy.

"She's not... she can't..." he whispered nervously, covering his ears and trying not to look her in the eye.

"No, Harry, remember, she's not a real water sprite, just conjured by the charmed piece. You're not in danger of losing... anything."

He nodded his relief. "And the third one?"

"A wood nymph," said Neville. "That one tried to get up my trouser leg so watch it."

"He's joking," smiled Hermione, on seeing Harry's expression of dismay.

"No, it did, honestly," said Neville with great earnestness.

Harry sighed and summoned the third piece, and, at his first attempt, just managed to land it on the edge of the carpet where he eyed its twiggy strutting nervously.

"So, I just walk over to the other carpet and summon them?"

He strode confidently over to where Neville had been sitting cross-legged earlier, but immediately heard a roar of flame behind him, followed by a sizzling sound. Instincts kicked in and he whirled around with his wand pointing.

He frowned. "Where's the demon? And the woody thing?"

Only the water sprite remained, and she beckoned enticingly towards him.

Luna clapped her hands in delight. "She's so sweet and innocent, isn't she? I like to call her Felicia."

"Why?" frowned Harry.

"Because her name's Felicia," said Luna with one of her more dreamy expressions.

"They won't behave if you leave the carpet, Harry," said Neville. "The fire demon burnt the wood nymph, and the–"

"–Felicia," Luna said firmly.

"_Felicia_ doused the fire demon."

Harry groaned. "So how do I summon them if I can't go over there? Move the carpet nearer?"

"Makes no difference," said Neville.

Hermione said, "Simple-minded and conjured creatures behave differently than passive objects to the summoning charm, Harry. They follow."

"Okay... so the water sprite is the most powerful, and both of the others were destroyed?" He discovered the missing pieces were back in the box. He summoned them to him on the old grey carpet, then summoned 'Felicia' to go with him.

She followed obediently, dewy-eyed, as he strode to the new carpet, but on the way he heard the roar and crackle as the wood nymph burnt up.

Hermione said, "You're forgetting–"

"–Yeah, I know." At his next attempt, Harry gave it a little more thought first – then a crafty grin spread over his features. He took the fire demon first, and triumphantly looked back as 'Woody' tried to cuddle 'Felicia.' "They seem to be getting along alright – at least they're not killing each other."

Back he went and successfully summoned 'Woody' to follow him to the new carpet. Only 'Felicia' now remained on the old carpet, but as he went back to fetch her, the fire demon consumed the wood nymph on the new carpet. He sighed.

"That's as far as I got as well," moaned Neville.

"But it's obvious, isn't it," said Luna. "All you have to do is–"

"–Hush, Luna!" cried Hermione. "They have to–"

"–But..."

"They should practise and learn for themselves, Luna, else how will they–"

"–I DID IT!" came the cry from the door. "Oh! Sorry." It was Hyacinth holding up her safety wand. "Sorry... it's uumm..."

"It's alright," cried Harry, "we're all friends here. This is Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, and Luna Lovegood."

"Pleased to meet you. I erm..."

"Oh, that's like the wand I learned with!" cried Luna. "Show me what spell you did!"

"Well, it's only the cleansing charm," was Hyacinth's eager response, "but it worked wonderf–"

"–Is that a Squi–safety wand?" blurted Neville.

"No!" Harry cut in quickly. "It's an approved junior wand with no magic of its own. Only a true witch can cast her magic through it." He stared at Hyacinth, fearful that she'd been offended by Neville's remark, but she hadn't even heard him. She was gazing at the conjured creatures. The fire demon was leering at the water sprite, but was unable to leave his carpet to go to her.

"They're wonderful!" said Hyacinth. "You're all so advanced. How did you manage to produce–"

"–Actually, they're from a box of charmed puzzles," said Harry. "When you go down to Diagon Alley you ought to visit Curiosa and Curiosa; they have all sorts of useful charms to provide magic we've not yet mastered."

"I will. Thank you, Harry," said Hyacinth. "Oh well, guess I'd better get back to work."

With mixed feelings, they watched her walk away.

.

The Endless History Lesson

The Aurors came to the same conclusion as had Harry and Hermione – that Quirrell had summoned the troll into the castle as a diversion while he attempted to steal the Philosopher's Stone, but had missed his opportunity because of Harry's presence, then fled when the Daily Prophet reported the incident. One third-year boy was removed from Hogwarts by his parents, yet strangely, Dumbledore was only fined a token fifty Galleons for negligence – on condition he remove the dark and dangerous enticement from the school. Meanwhile, wanted posters were placed in all magical communities. Hogsmeade thrived on the gossip, as did Diagon Alley. But few wished to believe that You-Know-Who was involved.

"It _was_ him, I know it was," grumbled Harry to his friends as they walked to their History class. The more they pondered the insecurity of the castle, the more wary they were about walking the corridors. "The Headmaster should accept responsibility and not be allowed to get away with this!"

It was obvious that Dumbledore had covered up his failures by claiming that at the time it was not known any crime had been committed. It had appeared – so he said – that a beast had wandered in, and there was nothing to be done but clean up the gore before the students saw the horrific result.

The kids took their places and watched the ghostly Professor Binns entering through the blackboard as usual.

"So why is the third-floor corridor still forbidden?" hissed Neville.

"Is it?" said Hermione.

"That's what everyone says. I mean, if the Philosopher's Stone remains up there and Voldemort wants it then–"

"–then he'll find a way in again," said Harry. "He was invisible when I heard his voice. He could be anywhere right now."

Hermione and Neville glanced about nervously, but Luna said soothingly, "If it had been easy for him to enter the castle and get the Stone he'd have taken it by now – yet he didn't. I'm sure he relied on Professor Quirrell somehow. That must mean You-Know-Who was badly weakened when you thwarted him as a baby, Harry – if he has to rely on people to get him about, I mean. He's probably just a wispy Hinkypunk without even a lantern."

Harry nodded. "You're right! Something happened that day because there was no body according to the accounts at the Ministry. What if he's just a worm? A vapour with only a voice? Nor can he use Quirrell again, not with those wanted posters all over the place. And it can't be easy for him to find another as gullible as Quirrell if Voldemort's so weak."

The friends cheered up and relaxed after that. Neville half-dozed off against Luna's shoulder as Binns' dull lecture continued. Harry and Hermione put their heads together and angled inwards to share note-taking as they'd learned to do at the Academy. _It's not cheating, Harry – it's efficient,_ his mother's words reassured him, and Hermione was more than agreeable.

It was nice being close to her, Harry realised. Girls are strange that way. He wondered if it was her magic – but no, they'd all learned to sense Magic, and he could detect hers by reaching out with his own. No, this was something else: a comfortable pleasure that reminded him of when Robert Hilliard had his grubby hands round Cho Chang! Harry smiled to himself. Hermione would never let boys do that to her without a severe–

"–We missed the year," she whispered in his ear. "Did you get it? Was it 1741 or...?"

"Sorry."

"It's alright..." she murmured, patting his hand reassuringly. "We can look it up easily enough. Anyway," she continued to muse softly, "your mum said precise years are only for those who wish to make a career of..." She tailed off into some inner dream that could only be guessed at.

Harry noticed that in her trance, Hermione had forgotten to move her fingers away from his, and he became possessed by an intense desire that she would not. He slowed his breath in case it might draw her attention to that touch. A minute passed. Then two. Now he couldn't move his own hand – not for a million Galleons. Their heads were down together over the parchment – her hair sometimes brushing his forehead as she appeared to browse their merged scribbles up and down ... up ... and ... down. Then... a stillness... Binns had paused in his delivery. Nothing was happening anywhere else anymore. Not in all the world. Just these two innocents absorbed in each other. There were no years anymore.

.

The Bitter Pill

The next few days turned much colder. Not daring to discuss or even mention the exquisitely-subtle emotions they'd shared so instinctively in the History class, Harry and Hermione became quite awkward together, speaking only essentials, and not looking at each other. Luna and Neville were getting extra attention from Hermione, chatting extensively and exclusively, especially when Harry was around. He felt miserably excluded.

Potions class forced them together. Mercy Fuller's sharp perceptiveness immediately spotted their embarrassing angst as they hesitated while watching other students partnering up. "Mandy, could you swap places with Terry today, please. Harry, Hermione, you already know today's theory quite well and I want to focus on the principles with those who were not at the Academy, so can you take the back corner bench and revise together? Susan and Ernest move forward – thank you. Michael and Padma just here so I can help you better..."

As she continued directing the rest of the class, both Hermione and Harry were thankful they themselves hadn't had to make the choice. They fumbled their textbooks out as they sat down, and could hardly avoid using the same sharing methods they'd employed for quite a while now. But it was not the same. The freedom was gone and a wretched emptiness was all that remained in both their hearts.

When they stood to brew the day's lesson it was routine and filled with a painful sense of loss. They were relieved when it was over. They handed in their potion and, with the rest of the students, began filing out of the classroom.

"Harry, could you stay behind a few minutes, please," said Mercy.

Only Luna and Neville looked back, but Harry shrugged and waved them on. "Catch you later."

"You too, please, Hermione," added Mercy.

Hermione froze halfway out the door, but dutifully returned, head down. She'd struggled to concentrate while stirring their broth; surely Harry had counted? Her head was still in a whirl of emotional preoccupation but she thought their potion had been at least acceptable. Was Mercy expecting Outstanding every time?

Only when the last of the children had gone did Mercy close the door with a flutter of her fingers. "Hermione, I wish to speak to you now as a friend, and you, Harry, as my son."

"What's up?" mumbled Harry suspiciously, taking a lot of time to adjust the weight of the bag on his shoulder.

Mercy did not wait but spoke bluntly. "A special friendship is growing between you two and–"

"–WHAT!" cried Harry – both he and Hermione stared slack-jawed at Mercy.

Mercy smiled. "Look, it's perfectly clear that you are sweet on each other." – Harry winced and his stare swung about the walls and ceiling for an escape – "So, Harry," continued Mercy, "I want you to ask Hermione if you may hold her hand, and Herm–"

"–Aaaw, Mum!" cringed Harry, looking everywhere but at the other two.

"And you, Hermione, must refuse him and sound like you mean it."

"WHAT! Why?" cried Hermione.

"I have to get back to the Academy very soon, so please hurry because I cannot leave until I have taught you properly."

"Do I have to?" groaned Harry. "What's the big deal? Hermione can I hold your hand? See? No problem." His hand shot out stiffly, but Hermione hesitated.

"I... uumm..." Hermione saw Mercy shaking her head quite severely. "No, I don't want to hold your hand, Harry."

Harry flinched, but only for a moment. "Right, can we go now, Mum? We've got Transfig in a few minutes and you know Prof–"

"–Harry, how do you feel?"

"Impatient. We've got about three microseconds to–"

"–Harry, please don't... not to me," his mother said softly. "Look at me. How do you really feel?"

His head jolted up. The edge of disappointment in her eyes was worse than any rebuke. His shoulders sagged. "I feel bad."

Mercy said, "Hermione, your actions have hurt Harry quite deeply. How would you feel if he refused you your–"

"–Please don't continue this, Mercy," wailed Hermione, her eyes now shining wet. "Harry, I _did_ want to hold your hand, honestly."

Mercy smiled. "And you, Harry? Did you?"

"Of course, but– HEY! who said I–"

–He was unable to finish because Hermione flung herself forward to smother him with such a hug he'd need a road map to find his way out. When he surfaced from the euphoric labyrinth, gasping for air, and saw Hermione's eyes pleading hopefully with him, he yielded completely to his first smile in a while.

Hermione beamed and wiped her eyes.

"Discuss your emotions or they may hurt longtime!" said Mercy. "If I could set you homework on this subject instead of Potions, I'd suggest you talk together a LOT about your feelings for each other."

Mercy Fuller checked the bag from her desk and hefted it up, then bent down to give Harry a kiss. "Here's a note in case you're late for Charms – and you still have NINETY seconds if you run." She kissed Hermione's forehead then was gone out the door before their minds stopped whirling.

Without Mercy's presence, both Hermione and Harry felt anxiously poised on a knife edge: children preparing to journey across a border into an unfamiliar wonderland. Several seconds passed. Which way might they–

–then he was reaching out to her with a sheepish grin on his face. "So... are we... you know...?"

Hermione smiled and accepted his hand. "We are."

And fingers blissfully entwined... they walked away.

.

—oOo—

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**Author's Notes**

_Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

**– Hippothestrowl**

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